


Requiem

by Broken_Clover



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Deliberate medical inaccuracy, Fan theories, Gen, Human Experimentation, Introspection, Medical Torture, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Requiem- a church mass for the repose of the dead; a tribute of remembrance to something that has been lost.A fanmade theory on how Bedman became the villain that he is.





	1. Well-Meaning

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for multiple types of torture amongst other things. This one is not going to be pretty.

“So...which one of you would like to go first?”

Jet-black eyes scanned the two little children standing before them. Both were visibly fearful, eyes darting between him and the set-up behind. The girl grasped her brother’s sleeve, half-hiding behind him while trembling.

Slowly, the boy looked down at his sibling, cowering against him. His nervous expression gradually melted away, and he looked up into the man’s eyes with weak determination. He took a step forward.

“I’ll do it.”

+++++++

“It’s still at 104. Fever isn’t going down at all…”

It had all seemed so innocuous at first. A few good test scores between the two of them, something that could have been chalked up as more dutiful studying or a better understanding of the material. Nothing especially abnormal or worrisome.

The good scores had lead into a full semester. With the span of a few months, they had gone from suitably middling amongst peers to straight-A students without fail. There hadn’t been anything to prompt it. No changes it education, no new teaching systems. No source could be found. It was as though somehow, magically, their minds had flourished, taking in and processing new information and knowledge with complete and utter ease. It was bizarre, but who would have wanted to complain? Who would object to be given such a miraculous gift?

And then, he had passed out right in the middle of the street.

Things quickly spiraled down from there. The first instance had been diagnosed as simple overexertion, combined with the lack of sleep from studying. It was a flimsy excuse in every aspect. He’d never been particularly athletic, and tended to avoid being involved in such activities- he’d merely been walking home. That, and with the extreme ease of learning, there wasn’t even a need to study outside of a cursory look at the material. Even someone with half of the intellect they had would have recognized that.

The blackouts worsened, quickly becoming more frequent and more severe. After a while, it seemed as though half of their days were spent in class, constantly outpacing everyone else effortlessly, while the other half was spent at home, fever-ridden and semi-conscious. The incidences became harder and harder to justify. The timing was too perfect. The two had to be correlated, one way or another

The two of them had their own hypothesis on it, of course- words passed on the rare instances where they were coherent outside of classes, happiest when beside one another. She had been the more creative of them, and mentioned envisioning the brain as an engine, an organic machine. An artificial machine would overheat if overworked, what made them any different?

The concept made perfect sense, but did little to improve things. There was no discernible way to force a brain to cool down as it worked. Even when not deliberately learning, they would take in every detail around them, no matter how minuscule, and instinctively process and categorize it until arbitrarily satisfied. The blackouts kept going, the fevers continued, and the processing never ended.

“That’s it. I don’t care how well they’re doing in class. If they keep overheating like this, then I’m willing to do anything to get it to stop.”

“Are you sure? I feel like we’d be throwing something away…”

“They’re our _children_ , dammit! They’re _dying!_ ”

They had called in a specialist, at first. An expert years trained in sleeping magic. If overwork was the problem, then the logical solution seemed to be resting, wouldn’t it? After all, the best way to cool down an engine was to unplug it.

Despite the positive outlook, the idea had come undone just as quickly. The spells were all burned through within a matter of hours, with little change to their names. When the desperation had lead into the use of a forbidden technique, claimed to cause eternal sleep, they had woken up two days later. The specialist had stormed out in tears, despite the assurances that he had done his best.

Though a hard thought to swallow, the two of them quickly became resigned to the concept of dying young. If the problem could not be fixed, then there was nothing from stopping things from worsening, as they had before. It felt like only a matter of time before they simply couldn’t physically support the strain of functioning. It only seemed logical.

There was comfort in logic. At least, that was what he told himself.

Neither of them were quite sure how, but their parents seemed to know the strangers that showed up at their door a few days later. There was no compassion in their eyes, no comfort in their voices, but they claimed good intentions. They offered promises, a solution to the problem with a mere caveat- that they be kept afterwards for a period, in order to be studied.

They were going to be reduced to test subjects. Guinea pigs. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. But what other choices did they have left?

+++++++

The hospital was large and lavish. Just pristine enough to hide the dark underbelly of their whole business. It was a black-tech laboratory, the two quickly learned, specializing in illegal medical practices. No wonder they hadn’t known about it before.

The two were treated kindly, but it was clear that it was a sort of kindness reserved for a lab rat, to keep them healthy and compliant for the testing. And quickly they came, with numerous check-ups and scans each and every day without a single word of what they were for. He tried to remain confident and calm, but quickly found the stress and tension rising in both of them from the uncertainty.

Though brilliant, they were still only children. While they were supposed to be kept in separate rooms, every night she would sneak out of her room and into his, seeking the only comfort that could be found in an unfamiliar place.

“I’m scared, I’m scared, it’s too big and scary here…” She cried, trembling in her brother’s grip. In her own arms, she fiercely hugged a stuffed dog, a gift from their parents and one of the few things she had been permitted to take along with her.

“I know, Delilah. I know.” He ran fingers through her hair, trying his best to be comforting. “We’re gonna be okay, though. We just have to be patient and wait it out.”

“My head hurts. I hate this. When is this gonna stop?” She burrowed further into his chest, trying to stifle the crying to keep themselves from being caught.

“Soon. I promise. We’re gonna get through this.”

‘Soon’ had ended up being the next morning. A handful of guards had shown up early, even before the sun had appeared, to shunt him off deep into the facility. He’d spotted Delilah on the way, accompanied by her own cluster of guards. Having been more or less dragged out of bed, both hadn’t had any time to change. She still wore the same dress that she had worn to bed the night before, and he still wore the same lavender nightgown that she had given to him for his last birthday. 

They’d had little time to worry about clothing as they were dragged through gleaming hallways, all scrubbed spotless. The tile felt cold against their bare feet. None of the guards had uttered a word on the way down, forcing them to just follow along based on when and where they turned or risk being forcefully pushed from behind.

After what felt like forever, they passed through a swinging door and into a large white room. What appeared to be a small militia of people were waiting for them, all clad in white jackets and paper masks.

As they were nudged to approach, the group stepped back from the object that they were huddled around. It appeared to be some sort of examination bed, and was one of the few things in the room aside from them that wasn’t purely white. Though there was nobody on it, it was far from empty. An impressive array of wires, tubes, needles, and shackles were clustered on and around it, not even mentioning the various shiny metal carts loaded with tools arranged nearby and the various tools held by the people in white.

From the group, a tall, dark eyed figured approached, looking down with an odd combination of disappointment and intrigue.

“Good. You’re finally here.” His voice was flat and toneless, and sent a shiver down their spines. “Let’s not waste any time.”

“Wait, stop.” The older spoke up, shocked by his own confidence. “Tell us what’s happening. What do you intend to do with us?”

The man’s gaze hardened, making him flinch and step back. “We merely intend to do what we promised to your parents.”

“That being?”

“One way or another, we’re going to cure this disease of yours.”

While he wouldn’t exactly have disagreed with the terminology, with how nonchalantly he had said ‘disease,’ it put a nervous feeling in his chest.

He had been afraid. Terrified, even. Everything about this just rubbed him the wrong way. When the man asked for a volunteer to go first, he had been only a second away from grabbing his sister and running away. But he felt Delilah grasping his hand, trembling against his back, and he didn’t hesitate to offer himself up for her sake.

“Ah, lovely!” For the first time, a cheerful pitch made its way into the man’s voice. Somehow, it was even more troubling than the monotony. He felt a hand on his back, separating the two of them, nudging him towards the bed. The tall man’s fingers felt far too long and bony, like a skeleton. He didn’t have much time to think about it before the hand moved away and gestured.

“Just lie down, please.”

Looking down at the bed, he felt the cold, uneasy sensation blooming in his chest. He nervously glanced up at the array of people surrounding the mechanism, and now surrounding him.

A dozen pairs of eyes watched as he slowly, hesitantly turned and sat down. It all seemed so eerily quiet and still, at least for the moment that it lasted.

After that, it was complete chaos. Without warning, hands grasped from every direction, pulling and tugging and twisting. Several forced him back and wrestled him against the mattress. Unable to really see what was going on through the madness, he could only feel things being moved and stuck against his exposed skin. A set of fingers wrenched his jaw open and jammed in something hard that kept him from closing it properly. A moment later, from a different direction, something clear was pressed down over his mouth and nose. 

Amidst the panic and discomfort, he tried to reach up to pull off whatever was on his face and pull out the object in his mouth, only for someone to roughly yank his arm away and strap it down with one of the leather cuffs. Another sort of tightness wound itself higher up on his arm. Before he could question it, a sharp stinging pain bloomed in the crook of his elbow, where a needle tip was jabbed in with a force that made his hand spasm and fingers twitch.

“I’ve got brainwave readings coming up on the monitor.” One of the men said.

“I’m putting phenobarbital into the IV line, should kick in within a few minutes.” Said another.

Most of the hands were gone, yet when he tried to pull himself free, every limb was restrained. He knew that logically, he wouldn’t be able to break the leather cuffs, but the encroaching waves of panic and distress made him tug and yank against them nonetheless. Twisting his neck so fast and hard that he could swear something cracked amongst a spike of pain, he spotted Delilah through the wall of people, watching fearfully as she tugged at the hem of her dress.

While he was distracted, something else was stuck against one temple. The dark-eyed man looked him over and nodded, smiling under his mask.

“All of the technology that the UN has banned...it’s a tragedy, really. Magic can truly only do so much for the mind.” Spindly fingers ran themselves through his hair, and he recoiled at the touch. “This will be quite interesting to watch. We’re going to recreate therapies that haven’t been used in decades- but not because they’re ineffective, no! Those Government prats thought it best to leave technology in the past. But we know better…”

“Dr. Palmer, the ECT machine is all powered up. We can start as soon as you give us the go-ahead.”

“Lovely! Just another minute please, Dr. Liebling.”

He was clever, but he did not know everything. He could see and process all of the various tubing and wiring that had been stuck all over him, but he only had the faintest idea of what most of them were for. Another tug against the cuffs was attempted, but this time, he found the movement to be sluggish, as though he were still half-asleep.

“W-what are you doing? What are you doing to me?!” The questions were slurred from whatever had been crammed into his mouth.

“Please relax. We don’t want you hurting yourself.” The sheer calmness in the man’s voice only served to terrify and irritate him.

“Looks like the drug’s kicking in, sir.” Yet another voice spoke. A gloved hand touched his leg, and he instinctively tried to kick it off- but like the last time, each movement was awkward and halted.

“Ahh. Wonderful. I suppose we’re good to go then?”

He watched the goings-on with wide, frightened eyes. A strange sort of box-like object was dragged over on a cart, marked with numerous knobs and dials. A pair of handle-looking objects were attached to the box by black wires. 

One of the men grabbed the two objects and leaned over, pressing one against either side of his head. He wanted to writhe and scream, but whatever they had put into him made everything feel heavy, though his mind was as fast as ever. The latter was of little consolation. If anything, it made it all so much worse.

“There’s no need to look so nervous.” The dark-eyed one, Palmer, looked down at him again. “In fact, you should be excited! You’re going to be the first person in decades to experience electroconvulsive therapy.” He glanced off to the person managing the box. “O’Keefe?”

“Issuing the first current.”

The feeling was indescribable, although ‘unbelievably painful’ seemed to be a good stand-in. He quickly realized that the purpose of the object in his mouth was to keep him from biting down on his tongue as the pain made his jaw clench. In that regard, he was thankful. For everything else, it was hell.

Despite the earlier sluggishness, movement had suddenly become easy, although very little of it was actually by his own choice. Every muscle twitched and spasmed involuntarily from the electric shock, harshly restrained by the cuffs around his limbs. One leg seemed to be twisting oddly, and he mutely willed it to stop as the force sent even more pain running down it.

After becoming coherent enough to recognize the pain, he was able to recognize screaming a moment later. It took him even longer to recognize that it was coming from his own mouth.

“No, no no no! Stop it!” Through the screams and the odd crackling noise filling his ears, he could hear Delilah screaming in turn. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her running towards him, using all her might to try and push the men aside.

Just as quickly, the guards caught up and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her back away. “Stop that. You aren’t allowed.”

“No, NO! STOP IT!” Delilah screeched, louder than he had ever heard her before. She pulled against the larger men, tears running down her face. “YOU’RE HURTING HIM! STOP IT!”

“If you aren’t going to comply, we’ll have no choice but to-”

Delilah threw herself back, managing to surprise the guard, and broke away from his grip. She rushed back towards the bed and grappled with one of the faceless men. He seemed just as taken aback, and was knocked off-balance as Delilah grabbed him. The two stumbled and collapsed onto one of the metal carts, and there was the sound of shattering glass.

The objects stuck to his head were pulled away, and the jerking spasms faded, along with the pain. He wanted to feel relief, but could only feel mute dread as he realized that everyone in the room had their eyes on Delilah.

Scrabbling over the knocked-over cart, the girl grasped at one of the shards of glass from the jar that had been shattered. She brandished it like a knife, but the look of horror on her face betrayed her moment of bravery.

A guard approached, grabbing her roughly by one arm with a force that made her drop the glass shard and cry out.

“Delilah!” He tried to shout. He yanked and pulled in a desperate bid to get free, but to no avail. He could only watch in horror as the far-larger man kept a hard grip on his sister and began dragging her out of the room.

“Stop it! Stop it! Let me go!” She pleaded, already a crying mess. She continued to try to pull free, but the grip did not lessen as she was pulled out of the swinging doors and into the hallway. 

“DELILAH!”

“O’Keefe. Increase the current.” He felt Palmer’s thin fingers grab and yank his hair to keep him still. “You little brats are being seriously ungrateful, you know that? Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?”

He tried to clench his eyes shut and brace himself for the shock. It was far from enough. Every part of him screamed in agony. Limbs tore against the restraints, with one leg twisting until he could feel something snap. All he could process was screaming and pain. Eventually, it became too much to process all at once, and he could feel himself slipping into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So firstly- like I said in the tags, I know that this isn't exactly how electroshock works. However, given the limited documentation that would be available after a war, I can't imagine they'd have a perfect idea of how to do it right.
> 
> I know I have a problem with this kid. They gave us so many implications and unexplained details that I'm so very curious as to their connections. So here, I'll make sure to explain my theories on most if not all of them.


	2. For Your Own Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science is built on sacrifice, noncompliance will be met with force. This is for your own good.

“Hmm...how are the analyses going?”

“Still a work in progress. The lab boys haven’t managed to identify any of the sources yet, but they have been able to pinpoint the abnormalities.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Waves of dizziness and pain knocked against one another, fighting to determine which one felt stronger. Even with his eyes still closed, everything felt like it was twisting and spiraling out of control. Trying to move in a way that made the dizziness less severe only sent more pulses of pain running down his body when everything already ached.

In the midst of all the disorientation, memories felt bleary and fuzzy. His mind processed something stiff but soft underneath him, though aside from that, very little was coming in right. Trying to move was too painful, but the spinning sensation was making him feel sick.

Heavy, sticky eyelids were opened. The sheer amount of white made him flinch and almost close his eyes again. Still, his mind was already at work, taking in everything it could. He was staring up at the ceiling, but out of the corner of his eyes he could spot an array of what appeared to be wires lying all across him. He attempted to move his arms and feel around, but neither of them moved very far, limited by some sort of restraint.

It all came flooding back.

Whatever had been stuck in his mouth hadn’t been removed, making the ensuing scream of panic warp and warble. Despite the stinging pain, he tried to bolt up against the restraints. A vague part of him took notice that one leg was in a splint as he sat up, but he was far too distracted to care.

He recognized two of the white-coated men nearby, but found that he was too caught in his panic to do anything but struggle and scream. They immediately turned and rushed over to him, exchanging wordless glances as they dug through the various trays.

Amongst the varying pains everywhere, the sting of a needle against his neck was barely recognized. He didn’t even really process it until the sedative started kicking in. The heaviness was familiar, and he slumped back against the mattress weakly.

“Hmm. Not unexpected, but a more severe reaction than I anticipated.” He recognized the voice immediately. Palmer. 

The sudden urge to scratch the man’s face off was prominent, but the lethargic feeling made even keeping his eyes open burdensome. Once again, he cursed how quickly his mind worked, processing everything so easily yet leaving his body so prone.

The second man reached over, forcing his head to turn by pressing fingers against his cheek. The new view wasn’t much different, only offering more of the white walls, but he took notice of a single, small window high up on the wall, filled with stars.

Night? Had it already been a day? How was that possible?

“...several physical repercussions.” He caught the tail end of the second one’s conversation. “Though the brainwave readings have yet to show alterations, the muscular contractions did result in a fracture at the knee joint. Was that mentioned in your documents?”

Palmer nodded calmly. “Not that specifically, but that is a side effect of the electricity. The nervous system does act in a similar manner, of course, just less severely. No reason a fracture couldn’t occur.”

“Understood. Also, we haven’t looked it over yet, but it seems as though there is some sort of change to the cervical vertebrae. There was some damage when he snapped his neck before the procedure, but it appears that the spasms have worsened it.” The second man looked sheepish. “Not to say that he’s been paralyzed, but it seems that the neck can surpass the usual level of flexion.”

“Interesting…”

A familiar set of thin fingers gripped his throat, pinching the windpipe just enough to make it difficult to breathe. The other hand was used to twist his head around, somehow managing to turn almost backwards while staying in place. He would consider it rather remarkable, if being forced into the stiff material made it even harder to breathe correctly when he already felt lightheaded.

“Well, that is an unexpected result. Not sure what purpose it could serve, but I don’t think there has been a subject capable of doing something like that.” Palmer twisted his neck back into place, making it far too easy to see his excited smirk.

“I thought so, sir.” The other one nodded enthusiastically. “While I question if agitating it was a bad idea, we did have to stay on schedule.”

“Of course, of course. I understand completely, Matthews. Don’t blame yourself. He will heal just fine.”

The man shook his head, apparently relieved. “I’m glad to hear.” 

Palmer made a little gesture with his hands. “So, you were telling me about the abnormalities?”

“Oh? Oh! Very right sir, yes.” Matthews stepped out of view, and there was the sound of rustling paper. “There were some strange patterns in the brainwaves we measured, most notably within the Alpha and Beta waves. Both are operating very oddly.”

“Hmm. And do you think that is the source?”

“It could be contributing.”

He quietly wondered if either of them were aware that he was still awake. Rather than make it known and find out, he remained silent and listened.

“See, we noticed something else that you should really know about, sir.” More rustling paper. “We managed to start tracing a completely new wave that we were barely able to measure on the machines that we have!”

From what he could see, Palmer looked very interested. “Explain.”

“Based on what we’ve seen, it operates far higher than the 40-hertz Gamma wave- currently the highest we’ve been able to measure. There wasn’t any mention of something like that in any of the prewar notes we have on hand. I suppose based on the naming conventions, you could call it an Epsilon wave. Seeing as how the Gamma is associated with higher-level processing-”

“Ahh. I see!” Palmer gave an enthusiastic nod. “Any higher measurements could be an indicator of some higher level of mental processing, something even further. You said you haven't been able to determine the source yet?”

“Not yet, sir.” Matthews finally came back into view. “We have been working on the list of theories, though. The physical samples yielded no presence of Gear cells, active or inactive. The subject is clearly fully human.”

‘Subject.’ He hated the way that it sounded. How nonchalantly they referred to him as such.

“There is some magical potential, but not much more than the average person. Based on the sudden onset of symptoms, there is a possibility that it’s some sort of genetic mutation that has merely been dormant for years.”

“A plausible theory. Anything else?”

“Well, also considering the fact that both subjects seem to have manifested these symptoms simultaneously, we are wondering if there is some sort of connection to this ‘Backyard’ place that some of the other departments have been researching. The timing is rather close to the Valentine incident in central Illyria.”

Palmer nodded in approval. “I will see if we can get access to all the current findings we have on the Backyard.”

“What would you like us to do in the meantime, sir?”

“Continue your current studies with the Epsilon wave. So far, the current treatments haven’t resulted in any changes. But I wonder if perhaps we just aren’t paying attention to the right factors...nonetheless, based on what the documents say, it will take more before we see major results.”

“Understood, sir!” Matthews grinned, jotting something down on his paper. “Pardon, but how many doses are we at now? I need it for the report.”

“How many?” Palmer tapped his chin. “Over the past three days, I believe...five?”

As soon as the words met air, the boy tensed through the sedatives in his system.

“...Days?” He asked, voice splintered and weak from disuse.

“Oh?” Matthews looked him over curiously. “I’m amazed he’s still conscious, let alone coherent. Wonder if the advanced brainpower has any effects on metabolizing drugs?”

“W-what’s going on?” He asked, quickly growing more tense and panicked. “What are you doing?!”

“Shh. No need to get so riled up.” Palmer reached down to pat his face. He would have attempted a bite if it wasn’t hard enough just keeping his eyes open. “And yes, days. As the documents instructed, more barbiturates were injected after the electroconvulsive treatment was administered. We haven’t seen many results yet, but they should appear with time.”

The sheer calmness of the tone made his blood boil. Palmer could call it medicine all he wanted, but it was borderline torture. No sort of procedure should hurt as much as it had, black-tech or not. Something about it had to be wrong.

“What are you doing!?” He shouted again. The fear was channeled in anger, and he began yanking on the cuffs again.

“Calm down.”

“Where’s Delilah? Where’s my sister?!”

“That is none of your concern.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?!”

“Subject Beta is under a different testing protocol. If the information will make you calmer and compliant, she is not undergoing the same treatment as you are. But it is not something you need to concern yourself with. Are you happy now?”

“NO!” He wouldn’t be happy until they were both far, far away from this horrible place. “LET ME OUT!”

“Sir, he’s becoming very agitated. Is there a purpose to keeping him awake right now?” Asked Matthews.

“No, not that I can think of. Can you fetch another bag of phenobarbital?”

“Of course.”

Looking down, he realized that a tube still ran into his arm, though the other end wasn’t connected to anything. It wasn’t something he learned in school, but it was very easy to tell from experience what it did. And when Matthews came back into view carrying a bag of clear liquid, experience told him that fighting off unconsciousness was not going to be nearly as easy this time around.

Still, he tried his best to resist, focusing on the lingering pain and his own anger for as long as he could manage until the heaviness settled in once more, until it all but took him by the leg and dragged him back into the darkness.

_Delilah...I will find you. I promise._

++++++

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had blacked out. When he thought to turn his head and check the window again, he found that he was surrounded on all sides by the doctors once more.

“Good morning, little one.” He didn’t even need to see the eyes to recognize Palmer’s voice anymore, nor to know that he was the one busying himself with his hair again. “So good to see you again.”

For the first time in a while, he found that his mouth was unobstructed. A million thoughts ran free through his head, but he hissed out the first thing he could manage.

“Stop touching me.”

Based on the way the fingers tensed, that wasn’t something Palmer had expected. Despite it, though, the hand didn’t move away.

“Excuse me?”

“Stop it. Stop touching me.” He hated being touched by strangers. Absolutely despised it. With the amount of stress frying his nerves from the whole ordeal, it was difficult enough not to panic without the unwanted handling.

“Hmm. Well, unfortunately, I can’t do that. We need to be able to administer treatment, so it is rather necessary.”

He was about to make some irate remark about how necessary the hair-touching was, but as he opened his mouth his mouth to speak again, a spoonful of something was jammed in. The sudden feeling of something being forced down his throat made him sputter and cough. A sharp ache split his chest as part of the liquid slurry went down the wrong pipe, while the rest of it was coughed out onto the hand that had put in there.

“Gah, disgusting little-” The hand recoiled, and the body it was attached to twisted into a snarl.

The fingers in his hair tightened to keep him still, and he heard Palmer’s disappointed voice. “Hmm? What a rude thing you are. We give you food, and you spit it out?”

Perhaps on some level, Palmer did have a point. At the same time, though, he was having a difficult time trusting anything said by the man who had tied him down and electrocuted him. He didn’t have any idea what they were trying to force into him, and therefore, logically, the safest option was to avoid it.

“No.” He snapped through gritted teeth as another spoon was held out. Despite Palmer’s grip, he tried to turn his head. “I don’t want to.”

“We don’t care what you want, we’re doing what’s best for you. Now eat.”

“No!” The metal was pressed against the mouth that he refused to open. “Stop!”

“You are being difficult, knock it off.” Another hand gripped his jaw, attempting to pull it open by force.

“Nggh, no! Stop it!” He snapped, before closing his mouth as tightly as he could manage, eyes pinching closed.

“Sir, if I may?” Another voice offered.

“Yes? What is it, Hayes?” Palmer asked. 

“I don’t think there’s much point in trying to fight him. Why don’t we just use the tube?”

The hand grabbing him pulled away, but he didn’t relax. He looked around the room, taking in the expressions and nods being passed between the doctors.

“Hmm. Good idea. I’d like to waste as little time as possible. Liebling, go grab one.”

“Yessir.”

Another hand reached out and grabbed his chin. Instead of trying to pull his jaw open again, it tilted his head back. Though he didn’t know what the purpose was, it could only be unpleasant. He wriggled and squirmed, but with the way he was being held, it only made things hurt.

Of all the things he was expecting, having something shoved up his nose wasn’t one of them. He spotted the clear tube as one of the men tried to force it in. With how thick it was and how roughly it was being handled, he could feel it painfully scraping all the way back until the tip managed to scratch his throat. The sensation made him cough and gasp, eyes pricking with tears as his body instinctively tried to force the foreign object out.

It felt like something akin to choking, but no matter how hard he gagged, the tube was only forced deeper. After a few incredibly long minutes, the shoving stopped. The entire passage of his throat felt like it was on fire and likely bleeding a little, but he took a meager solace in the fact that it wasn’t worse.

“Alright, it should be in place.” Hayes’ voice spoke up somewhere behind him. “O’Keefe, can you deal with the feeding while I put in line two?”

An irritated sigh. “Fine, if you want.”

Soon, it became difficult keeping track of everything. Usually, he’d have no trouble processing anything and everything, even if he didn’t exactly know what they were. He suspected that some combination of the drugs constantly being injected in and the increasing difficulty in keeping track of the passage of time was disorienting enough that keeping focused and observant of what was going on was hard.

The world became measured in sensations. A hot feeling dragging itself down his throat, making the irritated flesh sting and burn. The sudden need to vomit, but the inability to do so with a tube crammed down his airway. Dots of cold stickiness in a dozen places- arms, legs, chest- suddenly reminded of his broken leg by the sensation of it being touched. Tightness around one arm, then the other, curious fingers prodding in search of a thick, healthy vein to pierce, eventually followed up by a sting on the elbow of one arm and the back of the hand on the other.

The tube was pulled back out of him, bringing with it the taste and stench of stomach acid. The sensation made him shudder in revulsion, which only worsened when he spotted the familiar white box being dragged over. Instinctively, he tried to pull and yank again. He didn’t know why. He already knew that he couldn’t escape. The concept really only sank in when he quickly wore himself out.

On the other side of the bed, one of the men held some sort of recording device in his hands. The glowing red eye peered at him ominously. More questions flooded his mind, but they were interrupted by Palmer’s voice.

“Any questions before we continue testing?”

Hundreds. Thousands. An impossible number of questions that he wanted answered. In reality, though, he would have been more than happy to ignore each and every one if it meant that he didn’t have to go through the torment and pain once again.

“P-please. I can’t do this anymore.” The words tumbled out of his mouth thoughtlessly. “I-it hurts, please, I just want to go home. I don’t want to do this, I’m scared-”

In his distraction, he almost choked on the block as it was shoved back into his mouth. Though it wasn’t particularly painful, he couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. It was going to hurt soon.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” There was almost a taunting pitch to Palmer’s deadpan voice as the air mask was pressed back over his face. “We promised to heal your affliction. Can’t do that if you leave, can we?”

It was a meaningless excuse, and he knew it. All that talk about processing and the Backyard- it was obvious that this wasn’t treatment, it was experimentation. But he was the one tied to the bed, helpless and powerless, and that was something that they were both all too aware of.

Still, it didn’t stop him from pleading, even with his mouth propped open. “No, no, no, please, I don’t want to do this anymore- I-I can’t, please-”

The white handles were pressed against his temples once more. He could vaguely make out the man with the recorder saying something, but it was difficult to hear over his own heart pounding in his ears.

“Dr. Palmer?” Another voice- Matthews, if he remembered- spoke up. “Ready whenever you are.”

“Alright.” He saw Palmer raise his hand from his place at the head of the bed. “Issue the first current.”

“No, no, no please no please don- aaaAAAGH!!”

Pain being familiar did not make it easier to bear. If anything, he could swear he felt more sensitive to it as the stings lanced up his spine and made his body snap and jerk. The damaged leg twisted, letting out splitting stings that traced up his side.

No matter how hard he screamed, he knew that nobody would help him. Yet still he tried, screaming and crying and eking out any desperate pleas he could get out through the pain that tried to squeeze the air from his lungs.

The sparks and crackles that resounded in his ears continued for a bit when the current switched off. It echoed arrhythmically with his shaking, tense breathing. More than usual, he found his wrists stinging with pain. In trying to glance down, he realized that the excess friction had finally taken its toll, with the skin scraping away and bleeding.

Still, none of it broke Palmer’s gait. “Increase the current.” 

“N- AAAAAAAA!!!”

He’d expected to have passed out during the second current, just like he had the first time. Yet the pain continued. At first, he was very confused, but the confusion quickly turned to fear. He no longer had an out. He would stay awake until they said that he couldn’t. They had full control over him.

A particularly unpleasant jolt made his spine arch against the mattress, tugging harder against the skin that had already been eroded away. He needed to stop thinking. Even if he couldn’t black out, he just needed something else to think about.

Numbers. Numbers would be calming, right? Numbers were calm and logical. They always followed the same rules. They made sense.

As the pain increased, he mentally began reciting digits of pi. It didn’t make the pain stop, but it was something he could use to ignore it. Something else to focus on.

_3\. 1415926535..._

In the distraction, he lost track of how many shocks he’d been given. He merely kept counting until the spasms stopped and didn’t come back for a minute or two.

“That’s good.” Palmer said. He couldn’t see the doctor from where he was, but he had no desire to. “He stayed awake this time. How are you feeling?”

Even if his jaw wasn’t so sore from being tense for so long, he wouldn’t have said anything. He was well aware that he was still twitching and crying, but he kept reciting pi and tried to ignore it all.

“Oh, dear. It seems he isn’t feeling well. Don’t worry. You’ll get to take another nap in a minute.”

As sore and disoriented as he was, he didn’t want to sleep again. He’d spent far too much time sleeping. If he was asleep, he couldn’t know what they were doing with him. Even if it meant more pain, he’d rather deal with that over not knowing what was happening.

Even if he could be heard, though, it wouldn’t have mattered. One of the men unhooked the end of the IV in his wrist and injected in a different fluid. He didn’t even have to wait for it to flow inside and take effect to know that it was another sedative. Despite his mental protesting, he found himself once again slipping away, wondering when he’d get to wake up again.

_3...1..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels kinda ironic that I say that this nerd is one of my favorite characters, and yet here I go, torturing him like this. Welp, glad I finally got around to finishing this! I wasn't as fond of the last chapter, but now I've got plot things up and running, along with some headcanons!
> 
>  
> 
> Reciting pi- This one miiiight be kind of a longshot, but when I first saw his IK quotes for himself reciting pi, I noticed how monotone he sounded (even more than usual) and to me, it felt like more of a survival mantra or a stim (which I will expand upon probably next chapter). I've seen someone say that it has something to do with pi being an irrational number, but I kinda doubt that what is considered one of his worst fears/memories is something like that, even as ridiculous as the IK can be sometimes.
> 
> Neck rotation- kind of a minute detail, but in canon, he's capable of extending his neck 'far beyond the range of a normal person.' I assumed it was either a long-term forcing or a short-term breakage and exacerbation, and ended up going with the latter.
> 
> Ability manifestation- a lot more fan-theory-ish, but considering his apparent age, I assumed that most of whatever happened to him had to be relatively recent. The events of Overture (about five years before Xrd, I believe?) and the sudden introduction of the Backyard (both in-canon and out) seemed like the sort of event that would have repercussions. Sort of like how May was having headaches when Ramlethal first appeared and worsened with the Cradle's appearance, I think practically tearing a hole in reality would affect people in some way (although I don't mean to necessarily say that Bedman is Japanese like May is. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. It's possible that some people were just randomly affected or other biological factors are at play.) 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, here's a pointless fun fact! All the names of the doctors (Palmer, Liebling, etc.) Were derived from the members of the character's namesake band, Bedemon!


	3. Escape(ism)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escapism (noun)- the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm so sorry this took so long! I have such a bad habit of getting off-track with my fics, but I promise that I have every intention to finish this one! It just might take a little bit of time...

“Are you awake?”

The voice was so familiar, yet so implausible that his mind immediately told him that he was dreaming. He had been dreaming quite a lot lately, but it seemed for once that it wasn’t the usual nightmare. At least that was a positive.

“Hey, brother! Wake up!”

His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Another fever, or maybe there was something off about that last dose of sedatives. Whatever it was, it definitely couldn’t be-

“Come on!” A hand patted his face. “Get up! Hurry!”

The physical sensation made his eyes snap open. Leaning over him wasn’t the usual sight of Palmer’s dark eyes and faux-pleasant grin- instead, a young, innocent face with deep brown eyes matching his.

“D-” He tried to speak, only for his dry throat to cause him to start coughing. “Delilah?”

The girl nodded affirmatively upon seeing him awake and aware. She began tugging on the nearest restraint, fingers struggling to undo the thick shackle.

“I-I- how- how did you escape?” A million questions were abuzz in his head. “Where have you been?”

“Shh!” She hissed, glancing around. “I dunno when they’re coming back! So we gotta hurry up!”

The sensation of the leather peeling off of his damaged skin was strange. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected it to ever happen. It stung as the material was pulled away, and he realized that the ravaged and bleeding skin had been left to heal on its own.

Delilah noticed it too, expression turning sad. “They hurt you…” She took his hand and stroked it reassuringly.

With one restraint gone, he tried to sit up. He wasn’t sure if there was still anything lingering in his system, or if it had simply been a long time since he wasn’t tied down, but each movement was halting and awkward. Still, he tried to reach over and free his other arm while Delilah undid his legs.

He didn’t realize how shaky an uncoordinated his body had gotten until he found himself struggling to pull the cuff off. He could barely coordinate his fingers to work in unison, and even then, every time he moved, they started trembling again.

Despite his struggles, he managed to get it undone, even if it took him longer to take off the one than it did for Delilah to undo both of his legs. Looking at her, he wondered what sort of ‘testing protocol’ she had gone through. She did look a bit bedraggled and exhausted, but aside from a couple of small bruises on her arms and legs, she looked perfectly fine. Meanwhile, here he was, wrists and ankles bleeding and shaking to the point where he could barely sit up right.

Stifling a gag in his throat, he carefully- or at least, as carefully as he could manage in his state- took the needles in his arms and tugged them out. It seemed that they had been replaced while he had been asleep. A small menagerie of needlestick marks dotted along ashen skin. It reminded him somewhat of a drug addict, although in this case, he wasn’t the one addicted to stabbing him with needles.

“Ick.” Delilah mirrored his disgust, trying not to look at him as he pulled on the needles. “What did they do?”

“I don’t know.” He rasped. Even trying to talk made him feel dizzy. “Th-they kept doing something called ‘electroconvulsive’ and put me to sleep after it. I’m not sure what was in the needles or what they did after I passed out.”

The look in his sister’s eyes could best be described as ‘viciously homicidal.’ Both of them still little more than children, and she looked a moment away from strangling all the doctors with her bare hands. Strangely, something about it was comforting. Not only was it completely in-character for her, but it meant that she really was there, and she was alright.

Delilah caught sight of his odd expression. “Are you okay?”

“Um, I’m a little dizzy right now, but...I-I-” without thinking, he found himself choking up, “I’m just...so happy you’re alive. I was so- I was so worried.”

A light, gentle hug was thrown around his shoulders. He was so relieved and grateful that he didn’t even care about the nausea and dizziness anymore.

“It’s okay...we’re going home now.”

Home. What a strange thought. Things that had once been mundane and overlooked were things that he ached for. A hot meal. A comfy bed. A room that didn’t constantly smell of floor cleaner, antiseptic, and blood. Mom and dad…

Did they know what was going on?

That was enough to shock him out of his fantasy. They couldn’t have known. Did they? They wouldn’t willingly send them to a place like this. They must have been just as deceived. How frightening it would be to have the two of them come home in such a state, having to break out and run away just to be able to leave.

He felt Delilah grab his hand and gently tug. “C’mon! We gotta go! They’ll be back soon!”

The thought was enough for the adrenaline to kick in. Despite the overall weakness, he managed to quickly swing his legs over the side and scoot over to to stand up.

“Come on!”

He wanted to run. As soon as he could, he wanted to run away as fast as he possibly could. He reached out a hand to Delilah, just in case he had trouble finding his balance.

The moment he put weight on his feet, though, he felt his knees buckling and legs crumpling underneath him. His grip only met air.

“D...Delilah-” He wheezed, having had the breath knocked out of him by the force of the collapse. He was currently sprawled out on the floor, every limb askew. His arms still worked, though not very well, and it seemed that after so long being tied down, he couldn’t walk properly anymore.

“Delilah?” He continued to sputter and cough as he attempted to push himself up with shaking arms. Where was she? Why wasn’t she saying anything? “De-”

“What are you doing out of bed?”

The sudden voice made his blood turn to ice. A few footsteps sounded in the distance, and a shadow loomed over him. He shivered from the cold tile underneath and from the realization that he had made a terrible, awful mistake.

“I-I-”

The display of insecurity was enough to bring a smile to Palmer’s lips. His mask had been pulled back, revealing a face that was almost uncomfortably _normal_. It was the sort of face that you could see on any street corner. He didn’t look like a torturer. He didn’t look like a criminal.

The man’s dark eyes flicked over his prone form, before looking up at the now-vacant bed. “Did I leave the restraints loose? You couldn’t have done it on your own…”

The confusion and disbelief in the scenario made it impossible for him to resist as he was flipped onto his back and picked up in Palmer’s surprisingly-strong arms. It brought no source of comfort though, as he was immediately deposited back on the mattress.

“Please, don’t-” He half-begged, tears threatening to spill again. “I-I-I’m sorry-”

“Your behavior is improper, Alpha. I was willing to think that you’d be more compliant.”

Without a hint of mercy, the restraints were tied in place. Palmer didn’t even react to the pained winces as he tightened the leather around already-worn skin. When everything was back in place, he offered another pat on the head.

“There we go, isn’t that better?”

“No.” He growled in reply. “What did you do to my sister? Why’d she vanish?”

“I...pardon?” For once, Palmer sounded genuinely confused.

“Delilah! She was just here!”

“Hmm?” A brief spark of something flickered in the man’s eyes. He picked up a clipboard. “Are you sure you saw the girl?”

“What did you do to her?! She was gone as soon as you showed up! I know she was here, you can’t trick me!”

“Interesting…” The sound of writing was audible just under his voice. “Subject appears to be entering a state of depersonalization...though, perhaps bordering on derealization entirely. Manifests as delusions-”

“Delusions?!” He shouted back. “I’m not crazy! I’m not seeing things! She was here!”

“Subject becomes aggravated when such delusions are called into question, despite their blatant illogic and impossibility-”

“SHUT UP! You’re lying to me! Where’s my sister?!”

“-likely persists as a form of escapism. Authorizing an increased dosage for sedation alongside haloperidol to counteract the psychotic behavior.”

More drugs. They were going to jam him full of more goddamn drugs. 

He knew how illogical it was that Delilah had actually been there, but instinct told him that it was true. He had felt her, heard her. He couldn’t have gotten out of those restraints all on his own...right? Something had to be wrong!

“...despite mildly unstable physical condition,” He could hear the man mumbling, still scrawling away, “subject is safely within parameters to use positive punishment to dissuade further noncompliant behavior. Issued a dosage of sulfozinum intramuscularly, effects to be documented later.”

Palmer vanished, outside of his range of view. As much as he hated seeing the man’s face and feeling his too-thin hands on him, he despised not being able to know what was happening far more. All he had were the little shuffling noises of the man’s movements to help him try and guess what was going on.

From what he had gathered from the half-conversation, it was no surprise at all when he saw the man return with another syringe. The noise that dragged itself from his throat was a half-groan and half-growl. The prospect of needles was becoming all too familiar to him, and that did little more than anger him further.

“Do you know what this is?”

He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Sedatives. Or antipsychotics, since you seem convinced that I’m crazy.”

The ensuing little laugh of amusement made him stiffen in confusion. Why the hell was he laughing? That was never a good sign of anything.

“Oh, no. Of course, we’ll deal with the delusions later, but for now, you need to be punished.”

The cold fear was settling in once more. What was that he was saying about ‘positive punishment?’ ‘Sulfozinum?’ What even was that?

The sting in his arm was expected, yet somehow it managed to catch him off guard. Palmer held him firmly as he tried to pull away, for however much he could manage with the restraints. He could feel his heart hammering, but it was difficult to remind himself that it was just from the panic, not the drug, and that he wasn’t actually having a heart attack.

“This will take a little time to affect you, but please, when you start feeling strange, don’t try to hide anything. This will be important documentation.”

A warm breath hovered by the side of his face, one of the only non-pain sensations that he could recall from recent memory. In some regard, it was calming to know that such sensations still existed outside of his memories. Despite that, it did nothing for the feeling of unease, like he was restrained prey for a predator that was more than happy to take its time with him.

“Don’t try and run away again, alright?” The man’s voice purred next to him. “You’re very important to us. And we have more than just cuffs. If you won’t stay in bed, I’d be more than happy to nail you to it.”

Palmer vanished after that. He could swear that he had had seen him leave, but as he thought about it, he couldn’t actually remember him walking away. He knew that it had happened, but…

No, no. There he went, second-guessing himself. He knew Palmer was gone, and that he was alone. All there was to it. Although that in turn left a new problem. Now what? The whole time so far, he hadn’t been by himself while awake. What was he supposed to do with himself? Was this part of the ‘punishment?’ Was Palmer just watching him, expecting something to happen?

Analysis seemed like the best option. Though his neck still ached whenever he tried to move it, and with a tendency to loll too far when he tried, he could still turn relatively well. He resisted the urge to yank on the cuffs again with nobody around, but he knew that it would hurt to try.

Well, that was enough of a start. Still cuffs. Still the same bed. The odd sticky circles with the wires were gone- which made sense, seeing as how he would have noticed that when he tried to get up. On that note, the IV lines hadn’t been replaced, which was at least something that he could take solace in. Though the lingering chemicals made him feel a bit hazy and numb, it meant that it would soon fade, and perhaps he could start feeling normal for the first time in...well, he didn’t even know. It couldn’t have been too long, but…

Looking down, he also noticed that the splint on his leg was gone. In hindsight, it would have made sense why walking had failed if he still had a leg like that. Yet from what he could see, it looked entirely normal. Just bare, pale skin with no signs of anything out of place. If he remembered correctly, it took at least a month for a broken leg to heal, at least a couple of classmates had done that before in one accident or another. It couldn’t have been a month, could it? It definitely didn’t feel that long. Of course, he also knew that the recovery time could be significantly shortened with magic, but these people seemed to prefer their black-tech over magic...perhaps they still had enough magical aptitude to fix it? But then why would they have even bothered with the splint on the first place…

None of it made sense. Not a single modicum of it. It was part of the reason he hated it so much. He liked things being logical. And if it wasn’t logical, he couldn’t understand it. 

Fear and irritation were battling each other, and he wasn't sure which one was winning. Now he was just stressed out, and though he knew better, he felt like he had to lash out somehow. The bed and cuffs rattled as he threw his own body against them. The slowly-dwindling idealism and hope in his mind held onto the slim hope that Palmer had tied it wrong, tied it loose, that enough force would be able to knock it loose. The stinging pain would be worth it, he could do this, he could figure it out, he-

With a weak, despairing sigh, he collapsed back into the mattress, energy gone. Hot, frustrated tears threatened to spill. It was all just so stressful. Not knowing when he was going to wake up, not knowing what they were going to do or what the doctors were going to shove into him, not even knowing the damn date and time.

A thought occurred. He turned to look up at the far wall. 

The window had been curtained off.

Before he knew it, he had begun reciting pi again, almost deliriously. It was all he could think to do, one of the only things that would let him not think about what was going on. That only managed to get to somewhere in the realm of seventy digits before he wasn’t sure if he had mis-recited it. With nothing to help him verify, he had to start over again. Just thinking about messing up made him question if he was getting any of it right (even though some part of him knew that) and that just stressed him out more.

Any thought he had of something to do, he acted on. Counted the slats on the window curtain, counted the half-visible needlestick marks down his arms, counted the loose threads in his nightgown- at one point stopping to bury his nose in the collar, hoping to find some lingering scent of home, but only finding his own mixed with the odor of chemicals and rubber.

Well, at least he had that to remind him of home. It wasn’t much, but it was something that he could use to remind himself. They used to try and celebrate birthdays one day after the other, but he didn’t care much about his own enough for it to be worth it. He was more than happy to just celebrate Delilah’s, but she always made sure to slip something in for him. After a quiet, calm day topped off by a vanilla cake with strawberries, she had slipped him a squishy package wrapped in old newspaper. She knew that he liked comfy clothing and soft fabric, though she had joked that the plain purple fabric made it look more like a hospital gown than pajamas. 

He couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the irony.

For as long as he could remember, Delilah had been his very best and only friend. Neither of them could be considered ‘popular’ or even well-liked, even before they became smart, but he had always gotten the worse end of it. While she had other classmates that she talked to on occasion, talking to others was something that didn’t come easy to him at all. On paper, conversing with people was a simple formula. It seemed easy. Yet inevitably, he always found himself messing up somehow, considering the brief flickers of smiles aimed towards him that he knew weren’t kind, and the the ‘talk to you later’-s that never came. Maybe it was how he spoke, maybe it was the way he spoke, maybe it was how he was never able to reply properly to figures of speech and the like, he really didn’t know.

Delilah was so much different, though. She never laughed at him unless he told a joke. She was always careful to explain things in a way that he could understand, no fancy nonsense. Whenever he felt like talking about something new and exciting that he had become interested in, more often than not she had no trouble listening to him just talk until he’d said everything he wanted to. Delilah was the only one who really understood him, how his head was put together. 

They had always been close, though it may have been in part that they were the same age and spent their entire lives together. He knew he could be a tad overprotective of her, but she did the same for him. Delilah absolutely despised when people gave him trouble. She may have been a bit timid and hesitant just as he was, but when she was pushed, she could be ferocious.

He remembered, with a small twinge of amusement, the first day that he had been tied down to the damn bed. If they hadn’t managed to drag her off, he was pretty sure that she actually would have attempted to stab someone with that piece of glass. The prospect frightened him slightly- Delilah could be aggressive, but he had never seen her outright stab someone before- but it was still a bit reassuring that she had been so apt to try.

He wanted to let himself fall into pleasant, if blurry memories, but while it was something that he had managed to ignore for a while, he realized that the room was getting warmer. At least, it felt like it was getting warmer. He couldn’t confirm anything, but he felt warm. A bit of sweat had formed at the seam between the ring of leather and the skin of his arm, and it stung as it soaked into the material and rubbed against the ruined flesh underneath.

Trying to squirm in an attempt to lessen the stinging itch just made him realize how warm the room felt. The stiff mattress stuck to exposed skin as he pulled. Unkempt nails dug into the material in a desperate attempt to do something to not have to think about how hot it was. The lights overhead were beginning to feel like blazing sunlight, and he had nothing to guard himself with.

Soon enough, he could swear that the ceiling was warping and blurring as he stared up at it dully with blank eyes. Heavy, trembling breaths echoed off of the walls of the empty room. He couldn’t quite tell if he was freezing or hot, but he knew that he hated it. It was just like…

The fevers? No, that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t had one since he’d arrived, though he didn’t know why. He assumed whatever mess of drugs they’d used had helped lessen it. Had the new one undone it somehow? Was making them come back part of the punishment? He would admit, seeing as how the room was practically swimming before his eyes, they were having him pretty well convinced.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he found himself no longer alone again. The voices and footsteps of the men around him almost sounded like they were underwater. Every time he blinked, the world lagged slightly. Like the things he saw, all the sounds around him also seemed to skip and stutter erratically, making it difficult to discern anything.

“Neg-...effect, we...unfortunate...call him?”

“...Safe, it’s...problem…-ecessary...fine...be fine.”

A hand reached out to touch him, but for once, he didn’t feel Palmer’s too-long fingers. The gesture was almost calming. Despite knowing better, and knowing the sorts of things that these people were doing to him, he leaned into the touch as it traced the side of his face, cool against hot skin.

The feeling of the sensors being put back in place were little more than light touches, barely registered in his thoughts from the cold hand. The same went for the handles being placed back against his head. They were barely recognized until the hand moved away. A little noise of dismay pulled itself from his throat, dismay from the loss of sensation and the meager shred of comfort that he had been given.

The ECT didn’t register to him at first, only the faint crackling in his ears. The familiar spasms took hold, which was enough to arrange his thoughts somewhat functionally to recognize just what was going around him. In the state he was in, he couldn’t bring himself to scream, only gasping oxygen from the mask as the convulsions squeezed air from his lungs.

When the handles were pulled away, the twitches and stiffness didn’t go away. He felt oddly lightheaded, and little dizzy, but he wasn’t able to think about it long as the spasms worsened, vision flashing and blacking out several times before pulling back.

“...-uck, fuck! Call...now!”

People were swarming around him, doing things that he couldn’t make out, sensations that became more and more difficult to register until it was all swallowed up to the sound of something snapping.

++++++

“Dammit, Liebling, the seizures aren’t supposed to get out of control like that!”

“S-sorry, sir, I didn’t mean-”

“Why didn’t you call me!?”

“We th-thought we could handle this-”

“You IDIOTS! I specifically said that there could be complications from the pyrogenic reactions that the sulfozinum would cause! What the hell were you expecting when you tried giving ECT to something with a 40 degree fever? Were you thinking at all?!”

“...I...I’m sorry, sir.”

“Ugh, forget it. I just hope for your sake that you didn’t give it brain damage. You know how important the two of them are.”

“Understood, sir. Nothing like this will happen again.”

“These children are one-in-a-million, Liebling. We can’t risk wasting the sort of potential that they have…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More headcanon time!
> 
> -While I've seen fanartists portray Delilah as being the younger sibling, based on what we've seen canon-wise, I believe that she and Bedman are actually fraternal twins. It would more likely explain their very close bond while also explaining how, if she really was the one who appeared at the end of the story, she looked so similar to him. I think it would also tie well into the whole theme of mental abilities, due to old superstitions that twins are telepathic and the like.
> 
> -[While I discussed it more thoroughly on my tumblr](https://crystalquadpanic.tumblr.com/post/175328329506/perhaps-this-is-a-bit-self-projection-y-but-even) I feel like it's pretty heavily implied that Bedman is somewhere on the autism spectrum. This could explain at least in part why he has such a difficult time getting along with people, why he has such a difficult time making friends, and why he's so strongly attached to those he considers his friends even if they aren't particularly nice (he calls Ariels his friend, even though they really don't seem to have much more than a work association)
> 
>  
> 
> I can't say for sure quite yet, but based on how I've got this plot scripted out, I intend for it to be either 5 or 6 chapters. Seeing as how I'm pretty well into this, hopefully the next chapter should be up sooner!


	4. Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the world's a stage, and we are merely actors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda dark so I advise caution. Content warnings for suicidal thoughts, gore, and self harm. Please stay safe!

Life seemed to have quickly become entirely predictable, yet entirely out-of-control. Every time that he returned from unconsciousness, he was only subjected to more ‘treatments.’ Needles jabbed into veins, tubes shoved down his throat, and round after round of electricity funneled through his skull. Though he came to know them well, they never became any less painful or unpleasant to be put through. Just as always, though, he was never given a say in the matter. Time and time again, he was forced to lie there, to allow himself to be poked and prodded until either sedated once again or until he was too exhausted or in too much pain to stay awake.

Even when he passed out, the torment didn’t end. As the experiments dragged on, everything that had happened began weaseling their way into his dreams, congealing and contorting into a repetitive nightmare. 

It always began at home, as he replayed the memory of their parents giving Delilah her stuffed dog toy during their last birthday. An odd thing to remember, but dreams rarely did make sense. From there, things twisted into chaos. Every time, it felt like something new was added- a single, terrified eye peeking through a keyhole, the dog’s face drawn out on her bedroom wall in blood, an array of moths scrabbling through the destroyed hallway, her bedroom door, barred shut with the planks leaking blood in between. He’d watch the dog toy contort and twist into a massive, lumbering monster. Some part of him recognized the beast as the doctor as the thin, long fingers melted into razor-like claws. The creature’s shadow was thrown up against the wall as it approached the stairs and shuffled down them. 

Though it was headed away from her room, his mind told him that it still was a danger, that it still was going to kill her, then come after him. Once it vanished for the time being, the warm familiarity of home gradually melted into the cold, sterile hallways of the hospital, lined with IV rigs and trays of gleaming tools but no people to be found. 

Then came the screaming. It was so loud, yet absolutely noiseless at the same time. The scrubbed walls and floors were spattered with blood. Whose was it? His? Delilah's? All he knew was that there was too much of it. The dog appeared through the swinging doors at the end, claws scraping against the walls, dripping red as it approached him. Even on the rare instances when he’d try to run away, he never managed to get anywhere, turning around to find himself in the exact same place.

The claws approached and reached out for his face. The sharp metal and fur were replaced with Delilah’s hand, clutching a shard of glass tightly, but only for a brief moment before the entire hallway burst into flames around them. A suffocating feeling wrapped itself around his neck, and everything would disappear into fire in the final moments before he woke up. No matter what he did, it was always the same dream, and it always ended the same way.

He had never felt quite ‘right’ after that whole thing about positive punishment. Maybe the drugs had mingled oddly with it, but he hadn’t felt quite like himself. The world seemed to lag at times, and sometimes, when he’d blink, things would change drastically in that moment, like hours had passed, even though he knew it hadn’t been that long. Yet with the lack of timekeeping or anything to help him confirm times and dates, he couldn’t tell what was really happening. That, combined with the constant confinement, made it feel like he was watching the world through a screen, or a pane of glass- right in front of him, but always out of reach.

Even with that, though, the sheer amount of time spent in such a state meant that he was remembering just about everything he had the capacity to process. He could recognize all of the men from memory. Their voices were easy enough, but before long, he could also recognize the sound of individual footfalls, even the shadows cast over the walls and over him when they stood out of his line of sight. For once, the constant information gathering was a blessing, rather than a curse. He could notice all manner of little things- one of the most notable being that the leather around his right arm was starting to wear away.

While it still rubbed against his skin, it seemed that with time, it had also started damaging the cuff. He made no effort to mention that, or even to make it obvious. He still kept playing the role of a pitiful test subject, not allowing any of them to notice the brief flicker of hope that he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d seen Delilah.

Delilah…

He still couldn’t explain any of what happened. Delilah had seemed as real as day. She had undone the shackles, touched him, held him...none of that felt fake at all. Yet she had also vanished immediately, soundlessly. It wasn’t like there was no sign that she had been there, the cuffs had all been undone and he was on the floor. Something bizarre had happened, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

Though it was rare that the men would speak of her within earshot of him, he had still managed to pick up a few details. After memorizing the way that the doctors moved and behaved, he had figured out a little trick. When they tried to sedate him, he would close his eyes early and pretend to be unconscious. Even with the sensors left on, it seemed that the way his brain worked was so strange that they couldn’t tell the difference immediately with how it appeared on the monitors. Oftentimes, if it didn’t hurt too much to stay awake, he could manage a minute where they thought he wasn’t conscious anymore- and thus, were less hesitant to speak.

“Hear anything yet about the data for Beta?”

“Palmer’s keeping that mostly to himself. Kind of a pain to have to keep them so far apart, but I guess they’re going all-out on security since Alpha claimed to have seen it. Heh, almost escaped, too.”

“W-wait, what? Nobody told me about that! Did Beta actually manage to escape?”

“They didn’t have anything on the tapes, but considering what we’re working with, it isn’t out of the question.”

They always referred to Delilah like that, it was a consistency the men always used. He knew that they had access to both of their medical records, they knew both of their names. But they never called him by name, nor her. They were only Alpha and Beta now. With that, he wasn’t fully sure when, but there was a point where they’d stop referring to him as a ‘he,’ only as an ‘it.’ To them, he wasn’t even a human anymore. Not even a subject- an object. Maybe it helped dehumanize them. Let the doctors tell themselves that what they were doing was okay. That they were doing something more noble and right than torturing children.

Even with that, he tried to not let his feelings overshadow his thoughts. With the comments he had managed to overhear, they made it sound like Delilah was far away. Like she was in a facility different from his. That was good, for one very important reason. It meant that he could do whatever plan he thought of without any collateral. Even an explosion wouldn’t put her in any danger.

The concept had been a pipe dream before. How could he possibly manage such a thing while in such a state? With time, though, and the amount of study he was doing, ideas had begun sprouting. Little calculations, curious thoughts of what would happen if things fell, if chemicals mixed, if he could manage to knock things over with his limited reach.

It may have been shameful, but he had contemplated death quite a bit. It seemed funny that he had been so scared of dying young back when the two of them were constantly ill. With the continuing tests, he had found himself almost quietly hoping for such a thing- that they would use a bit too much sedative, do a procedure improperly, that they’d nick something major by accident, that his heart would fail and not restart...if anything had been left within his reach, he would have used it. 

He knew they weren’t going to let him out. Even if they could get whatever information they wanted originally, they wouldn’t be satisfied. They would just keep testing, see what happened when they poked this or prodded that. He was amazed that they hadn’t already gotten to the point of cutting his head open and poking around. The darker part of his mind wondered just what they were doing to Delilah over in the other facility, and he could immediately feel his stomach turn and icy panic flood his veins.

The thought was horrifying, but he told himself that she was stronger than he was. He had overheard on multiple instances that Delilah was being tricky, being resistant and noncompliant. No matter what they tried to do in response, she kept fighting. It almost brought a smile to his face. She was stubborn. She could make it. As long as she didn’t have to worry about anything but protecting herself, he had hope that she would be able to power through whatever they tried to do to her. 

It may have been idealistic, but it was the only shred of idealism he had left. He could keep playing his role, keep acting clueless. The doctors didn’t know it, but they were playing their roles as well. They could keep up the little facade play until he was able to flip the script and remove himself from the equation. And if he managed to take the doctors with him, that would be an even better end. 

He resisted the drugs. Screamed at the needles. Tore at the bindings.

Nobody was any the wiser.

+++++

Progress was slow, but he had learned to be patient. As painful as it was, he had to play things as safely as possible if he wanted everything to go as he wanted. All risks had to be calculated and conservative, or risk squandering everything.

First came the lights. He’d noticed one of the ceiling lights slightly to his right was starting to go. It flickered with increasing frequency, but nobody made to comment on it. Maybe they weren’t supposed to, or possibly it was just something they didn’t pay attention to. As it turned out, though, their negligence in that regard was something he could take advantage of.

“The...the light…”

He didn’t talk much anymore. Begging and pleading didn’t accomplish anything, and aside from some bitter comments that were never responded to but still sort of made him feel better, talking didn’t serve much purpose. Sometimes, he would talk to himself when alone, but it was such an infrequent thing that it almost felt improper. He was all alone, and more or less existed solely within his own thoughts.

His plan had relied on speaking, though, so he had to make due. He had waited for a time when Palmer wasn’t there. Instead, there had only been two- Liebling, and a slightly unfamiliar researcher who had been transferred to the facility recently, Mayne.

Though they tried not to let it show, to him or to each other, it had become clear that there were power dynamics among the group. Palmer was on top, of course, and the most level-headed of them. In terms of ranking, Liebling was close behind, but aside from how Palmer spoke to him, that wasn’t obvious. Liebling had a bit of a complex, always needing to be listened to and followed on his own terms. It was something that the others liked to toy with, outright ignoring him or doing orders just slightly wrong. Oddly, that only seem to encourage him, and he kept trying harder to get people to listen to him.

Mayne, on the other hand, was about as green as they came. He was educated and competent, obviously, but absolutely eager to please however he could. He also had a tricky little habit of always trying to say what people wanted to hear, to the point where he had no idea what any of the man's true opinions were on just about anything. Most of the other men tolerated Mayne or saw him as an annoyance, but his status as a complete suck-up meant that Liebling liked to keep him close by, to stroke his own ego.

The both of them seemed taken aback by his sudden speaking. “Eh?”

“Th-the light...it’s broken.” Of course, ‘broken’ wasn’t the right word, but he knew that Liebling wouldn’t resist the opportunity to correct someone.

“It isn’t broken, Alpha, it’s just flickering.” Liebling rolled his eyes, turning to Mayne. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it? And they say it’s got some kind of brilliance.”

“A-absolutely, sir! Couldn’t agree more!” Despite that, Mayne looked back up at the fixture. “He- um, it does have a point, though, the light is starting to go. Should we replace it?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, the wiring in this wing is so godawful that part of me thinks it isn’t even dying yet. Probably just a fluke.”

Interesting. It was amazing how loose-lipped Liebling could get in his pursuit for attention. It took all of his willpower to hide his eager smirk and stifle the little flutter of hope in his chest. He still hadn’t gotten very far, but it was something.

“Y-you sure we shouldn’t do anything about it? You sure Palmer won’t mind?”

Liebling flinched. Even when the man was just mentioned, Liebling went stiff. He could be almost just as much of a suck-up as Mayne.

“Erm, yes, you do have a point. Perhaps replacing it would be a good idea.” Liebling managed to retain his composure, going back to the blood test that they had been working on. “Next time you see O’Keefe, make him get rid of the old one.”

O’Keefe and Liebling were as catty as they came, making passive-aggressive little actions that he swore not even the other doctors noticed. Liebling loved to pin tasks on the man, which he would then promptly do as sarcastically and sardonically as possible without it interrupting their work.

“Oh, yeah, sure, send your little errand boy instead of talking to me.” O’Keefe grumbled, scaling the folding ladder to reach the ceiling. “Couldn’t make him do that crap, no, you need someone to kiss your ass all day.”

In an act of spite at the work thrust upon him, the man removed the old bulb as instructed. Exactly as instructed, and nothing more.

He couldn’t have asked for a better setup. People really were predictable.

++++++

From there, things continued to play out with deliberate care. Just as he’d hoped, nobody noticed the light socket, too engrossed in the work as always. Perhaps Liebling noticed, but he didn’t risk starting a fight.

For some reason, the fevers began returning. No drugs, nothing to trigger it, but he kept waking up warm and sweating. It certainly wasn’t as bad as it had been, but his instincts told him that it was only going to get worse. He couldn’t see the charts, didn’t know how to read them, but he was getting the impression that the acceleration wasn’t stopping.

With that came the hypersensitivity. Textures and sensations that had just been irritating before were becoming highly unpleasant and almost unbearable. The droning buzzes of machinery drilled into his ears when they had been mere clicks a little while ago. Even the lights stung his eyes, urging him to close them even when awake. Impulse told him to speed things up, but he knew that being reckless now was far too risky.

The next part was painful, especially so with the added sensitivity, but he merely bit it back and kept himself quiet. Untrimmed nails cut into the skin of his palms, drawing blood with enough scratching. It had taken a lot of waiting for him to find himself alone and awake, so he tried to work quickly, resisting every urge to cry, to stop. It would all be worth it soon.

The blood that soon coated his hands was flicked to the floor. He couldn’t see from his vantage point, but he could hear the little _plips_ and _plops_ from something wet hitting the floor. Just as long as it was there. The red would stand out brightly against the white tile. They just had to notice it.

When the men finally returned, none of them noticed at first, too distracted by the usual protocols of checking vitals and comparing measurements from the last tests. Still, it was only a matter of time before someone’s eyes began wandering.

“Eurgh! How the hell did blood get on the floor?”

He didn’t bother hiding it at that point, smearing both palms against the material. Just as long as he could make it look like an accident. After living through something like this, who wouldn’t get a little unhinged? It wasn’t something they could doubt with him.

“Oh my, would you look at that?” For the first time, Palmer’s voice was a source of joy for him, as calmly pleasant as it always was as thin fingers softly stroked his. “Mayne, go get the floor cleaner, might as well deal with any biohazards now.”

The world seemed to slow as he felt the breath catching in his throat. While Palmer was carefully touching his left hand, he gave the right a little wiggle. It had taken what felt like weeks, but the bottom segment had been worn against over and over again until it was just a little strip of cloth, half-outside of view. The empty light socket still remained in place, a taunting live wire waiting to go off as soon as something irritated it. To round it all out, a tray of solvents for cleaning the tools sat on a nearby cart- mostly notably among them, a large glass bottle of ammonia.

He didn't know much about the newcomer, but one thing that he did know was that Mayne had clumsy hands. He waited for him to return. With Palmer taking up his left side, he went right, kneeling down by the stain he had made. To reach the spilled blood, Mayne pushed the cart out of the way, right by the bedside. Uncapped the bottle of bleach.

It was basic middle-school chemistry. He had learned it back when he and Delilah had gotten curious and began playing around in the cabinet under the sink. Their father had managed to find them just in time, leaning over a bucket with the intention to mix everything together out of curiosity and naivete. The socket was merely a backup plan, something to increase the probability. Even now, he found comfort in numbers, comfort in logic. He didn’t have anything else to trust or believe in anymore.

When he threw himself away from Palmer’s touch, it was sudden enough that it took most of them off-guard, including Mayne. The bottle in his hand overturned, filling the air with an acrid odor as bleach spilled everywhere.

“Oh- I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Mayne was interrupted by the sound of fabric ripping. With one sharp yank, he tore through the cuff, swinging a half-limp arm out far enough that it slammed into the cart. The tray clanged and shook from the force, knocking things into one another. The glass bottle tilted, wobbled, tipped precariously over the cart’s edge, hurtled towards the ground-

And didn’t shatter.

The sound of glass clanging against the tile had more or less put the room on mute. Everyone was frozen in place. The silence was deafening.

Loud, slow claps broke through the noiselessness, drawing everyone’s attention. He managed to tear his eyes away to look up at Palmer, who was wearing a condescending, almost sarcastic smile.

“Oh, very well done, Alpha.” The softness of his voice made an unpleasant sensation bloom in his chest. “I see you’ve been very busy in your free time.”

The doctor walked around the bed, picking up the unbroken bottle and looking it over with a humored expression. “Ammonia. A rather dangerous substance, prone to catching fire, dangerous when inhaled, and reacts with certain substances to create toxic gases. Such substances including,” he gestured to the puddle on the floor, “bleach.”

The rest of the men seemed to get the idea, looking on in varying expressions of horror and anger. He only looked on in panic. There hadn’t been a back-up plan for this, and he couldn’t think of an escape plan or a way to justify it as an accident so quickly. He hadn't expected it to fail. It wasn't _supposed_ to fail.

He remembered his loose arm and threw it across to the other cuff. Immediately, one of them grabbed it and pinned it down at his side. The men clustered tightly around his bed, making it impossible to see anything but them and the small fragment of the ceiling in between.

“Staging a murder-suicide...I’ll admit that I’m impressed by your planning skills.” Even after almost dying, Palmer looked relaxed. “I wondered why Liebling told me that you’d asked about the light. You had a contingency, didn’t you? If the gas didn’t do the job, the fire would.”

The man reached out, lightly tracing his jaw. When he tried to turn away, Palmer latched on and turned it back, forcing him to look.

“Mayne, Go down to the supply room, won’t you? I trust you can handle this task.”

“Oh, yes, sir? What do you need?”

“Go get some bone pins.” He paused. “Actually...go get some tenting screws. Do we still have the ones suited for Zepp soldiers?”

“On it, sir! I’ll go take a look!”

As Mayne’s footsteps trailed out of the room, Palmer let his gloved fingers scrape the skin, nails rough even under the rubber. He didn’t lessen the force until it earned him a whimper of fear.

“I told you, didn’t I? We won’t accept escape attempts, not in any form. What did I tell you would happen if you tried this again?”

In spite of the fear flooding him, he spotted fingers drifting dangerously close to his mouth. Without thinking, he turned and snapped down on them.

“AGH!!” Palmer’s scream was immensely satisfying, as was the taste of blood in his mouth. It only lasted for a moment, before the other doctors intervened to pull him off.

The man glared at him as he clutched his bleeding fingers, livid. “You...you little bastard! Is this a game to you? We’re trying to help you, and you pull tricks like this?!”

“You aren’t helping me.” Despite everything, he could almost manage to sound confident. “You’re killing me.”

“Sir, I found some!”

He could feel his stomach turning. Mayne was holding a pair of giant screws. They were a bit odd, in that the section near the head lacked the spiraling pattern, but was more taken off-guard by the sheer size of them, at least a foot long. What was he intending to do with them?!

Palmer’s expression returned to that serene, discomforting smile. “We’re helping you, Alpha. If we just so happen to have to hurt you in order to do so...well, so be it.” He glanced at the rest of his men. “Hold it down. No sedatives. I want it to be awake for this.”

He watched Liebling be handed one of the screws, felt his heart hammering in panic as various pairs of hands held him down. He recognized the familiar taste of the mouth block alongside the lingering iron of Palmer’s blood. He gave a few attempted tugs against the arms, but found it was even more confining than the leather restraints had ever been. Aside from his head, he couldn’t move at all.

A hand brushed the skin of his chest, hooking around the collar of his clothing. He flinched, thinking that the man was going to strip him down, until Palmer spoke back up.

“No, no. No need for that. It isn’t going anywhere, just go through.”

The light glinted off of the metal far too harshly as it descended over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. The pointed end of the screw jabbed through the fabric, carefully placed an inch below the scapula, pressing into the soft tissue. After taking a moment to line it up, he began slowly twisting. The pain of that was minimal, but it didn’t stop. The force pressed down gradually increased, going from a small itch to a harsh, stabbing pain. The skin underneath made a small wet ripping noise as the pressing force finally pushed through the surface.

Though the block in his mouth kept him from talking and biting down, it didn’t keep him from screaming. The shrill sound echoed off of the walls and rattled around in his own skull, ignored and unheeded by anyone else as another hard twist made the metal sink in ever-so-slightly. It went no further than that, but instead, he could feel the sharp tip moving, scraping against the muscles and flesh inside, sending a burning pain across his chest.

“It’s stuck.” Liebling said

“Well don’t just stand and gawk, you idiot. Go get the drill.” For once, Palmer sounded almost bitter. He had seen the man be spiteful before, but never sounded so overt about it. He had no ulterior motives besides trying to put him in as much pain as he could manage now.

Magic-powered drills weren’t a common thing, but he had seen them multiple times before while people were working on carpentry around town. They had always warned him to be careful when he used them, because he could seriously hurt himself. He cursed his mind for only reminding him of these things when he really did not want to be thinking about them.

Liebling held one such drill in his hand. The bit was fitted into the head of the screw, and without a hint of remorse or mercy, the tool was switched on.

The screw began twisting deeper, digging itself further into his body. The vibrations of the machine made the pain worsen, and he wished desperately that the noise of the drill and his screams would block out the grating shrieks and disgusting squelches of metal being driven through flesh and bone. It seemed to go on forever, until he finally felt the same itch in his back, felt it intensify, then felt the metal burst through, sinking in an inch deeper in one second, the tip nestled into the material of the mattress.

Blood leaked from the holes, trickling out of his chest and down his side. It seemed that the nail hadn’t pierced his lung, but he could only manage a trembling staccato breath as he cried from the pain, which made the wound pulse with every exhale and every heartbeat. His breathing was the only noise in the room, sounding impossibly loud as he couldn’t even tremble from how he was pinned down.

“Well, look at that.” Palmer said with a smile. “It’s still awake. Good. Because you’re only halfway done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's note- in all seriousness, please do not mix ammonia and bleach, it is very dangerous and it will do a lot of damage if it doesn't just straight-up kill you. Chemistry is dangerous if you don't know what you're doing.
> 
> -While I've seen the things sticking out of his chest be called both nails and screws due to their weird appearance, they actually resemble a real-life medical tool called tenting screws. The nail-like section is intended for spacing so things don't rub up against each other (although the ones he had are far too big for conventional use, except for I guess the femur or something)
> 
> -I know we don't have much info, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have made that background video in the nightmare theatre and have it be completely meaningless. With the stage name I presumed that it was Bedman's nightmare and that it must have to do with his past somehow. It's kinda the reason I came up with this fic.


	5. The Black Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

Mom and Dad had taught him how to swim when he turned five. It had been a birthday gift for he and Delilah, they’d taken the train down to the beach and practiced kicking their little feet and paddling uncoordinated arms until they could manage something resembling swimming. Truth be told, he was so young that he couldn’t remember it well, but he could recall proud, smiling faces, laughter and tight hugs telling him just how proud Mom and Dad were with the both of them.

...They _had_ done that, hadn’t they? He must have learned to swim somewhere. Maybe he had just been born with the ability, and everything else had just been imagined.

The darkness felt something like the ocean. He never felt the urge to swim, though, not even to raise his arms. It was a thick, tangible thing, dragging him down and seeping into his lungs. He couldn’t decide if it terrified or calmed him, floating in a lightless void with no warmth and no company, but also no pain.

Pain was easy to remember. Pain was the blazing heat across his chest, intensifying with every heartbeat. It was the fluorescent lights glaring into his eyes, leaving burnt-black tracks in his vision when he blinked. The aches in his throat, down his arms and legs, too-rough grasps pulling and tugging on him when he couldn’t even fight back.

Sometimes, he could feel himself floating to the surface. That was where the pain was, always ready for him to return. It would hurt, and he would hate every moment of it until the great darkness dragged him back down. The darkness would soothe, but only for a little while. The world was either Too Much or Not Enough, never anything in between. Either he felt like he was floating in an endless dark void, devoid of sound and touch and light, or like an explosion of sensation was drowning him, with noises he couldn’t block out, colors and flashes that he couldn’t hide from behind closed eyes, and irritating textures and sensations that made him feel overwhelmed to the point of wanting nothing more than to scratch his own skin off and scream everything away.

It was hard to think in the darkness. He knew that he was there, but little else. He tried to recall memories, thoughts of home of home and life and familiarity. Yet each and every one of them felt hazy and unclear. Were the memories real? Was he imagining them? What did he know that he could actually prove?

The darkness offered no certainties. Nothing was absolute. It was only him, alone.

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. He could still hear voices. He knew that the light was still there. The light was out of reach, but if he strained, he could hear the noise. Even within the depths, he wasn’t completely safe. Little bit of stimuli slipped through on occasion, hyperfocused snatches of sensation among the rest of the void, sudden moments remembered flawlessly within the darkness.

Gentle fingers stroking the side of his face, almost tender aside from the texture of the rubber surgical gloves.

The sensation of the shackles around his wrists being undone to allow for a better look at the rubbed-raw flesh underneath, fingers dangling limply.

An old, blood-caked bandage being peeled free from his skin, freshly rewrapped to cover a gash that he didn’t remember getting.

A penlight shining in his eyes, burning his retinas, trying to get a reaction out of something almost lifeless.

He was almost lifeless, wasn’t he? Clearly, he must have been alive somehow, but it still seemed like a far cry from what one would consider ‘living.’ He could remember what that was like, didn’t he? It wasn’t the darkness. It wasn’t pain, and being tied down to a table for people to analyze and dissect. Life was supposed to be light and warmth and happiness, all of which were vague memories to him. At least, wasn’t it?

So what was life? Was he really alive? Some part of him sighed in dismay at his unusual philosophical musings, but there wasn’t much else to think about, where he was. The answer wasn’t apparent, but the nature of the concept seemed to imply that a definitive answer didn’t exist. He obviously had a pulse. His heart and mind still worked- in fact, the latter worked too well. In a medical perspective, he was a living person. Yet in that context, it remained a vague baseline, and nothing more. ‘Living’ but not ‘alive.’

His thoughts meandered in the darkness, but never got very far. He kept trying to think of nice things, happy memories, the sorts of things that had made him feel alive. As he looked each and every one over, he noticed something. Delilah was in all of them. In every happy memory he could think of, she was there with him. They were...friends, right? No, siblings. Both? Yes, that was right. She was his sister, and his very best friend.

That had to mean something, didn’t it? He couldn’t remember having any other friends. Only Delilah. She was what made him feel alive. Perhaps if they could be together once again, he would remember what being alive felt like. He desperately wanted to feel it again. The warmth was little more than a fleeting memory.

Without thinking, he found himself easing towards the surface. He could hear the vague tremor of voices, barely discernible from so far away. Perhaps it would let him understand better. Maybe he would remember where Delilah was.

“...verdict?” Even as he hovered by the edge, it was still difficult to hear. He felt the familiar pangs of pain as he let himself breach the surface, back into the world of sensations. Every part of him burned, but he tried his best to ignore it as he focused on the voices, and focused on staying conscious.

“Unfortunately, despite the initial promise, the higher-ups aren’t too happy with our lack of results lately.” The voice, like all of the rest of them, was only vaguely familiar. 

“Wait, what happened to Beta? We haven’t heard anything about their results in a long time.”

Beta...that was Delilah, wasn’t it? He was Alpha, and she was Beta. Yes, that was right.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. There isn’t anything to report.” The man’s dry tone had an odd twinge of concern in it. “Two weeks after we outsourced Beta to the partner facility, it apparently wound up missing.”

“W-wait, what?”

“I’m just as surprised as you. They’re not sure if someone screwed up with the containment measures or if the facility has gone rogue. They’re looking into it.”

“Damn. What do you think happened?”

“Can’t say for sure. The supervisors over there probably got a little too cocky and though they could do the project solo. Still…”

“What is it?”

“I dunno how much of this is true, but I overheard word that they were getting some really weird data. Apparently it’s something like the wave that we were studying with Alpha.”

“Well, what’s the problem, then?” The confusion and indignation in the man’s voice was thick. “Wouldn’t that be a breakthrough?”

“That’s just the problem, though. We only have so much data to compare. We don’t have anything new for Beta since sh- it disappeared. And as for the Bedman, here…”

“Hnk." The man snorted. "‘Bedman?’”

“Well, if they do end up shelving the project like they say they are, it’ll need an archive name. Do you know how many projects we have? Too many ‘Alpha’ components to remember individually.”

“Suppose you have a point.” The man snickered. “So they’re gonna shelve it? Surprised they actually made a call.”

They were going to ‘shelve’ him? What did that mean? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound pleasant.

He caught a smear of color moving somewhere in his blur of vision. “Yeah, with Beta unavailable and Alpha having gotten so unstable, there really isn’t much we can do for now. Either we hope that the one we have goes back to a more stable state, or we just have to face the fact that we aren’t going to get anything else out of this project.”

“Sheesh, one subject goes missing, and the other is basically catatonic at all times. Really thought this project was going places.”

“I think we all did.” A third voice joined the first two. Something about it sent a chill down his spine.

“Ah! Dr. Palmer, we weren’t expecting you.” The first voice sounded perfectly pleasant towards him, but he himself could only feel anger bubbling inside of him. Palmer was the one who had hurt him. Even in all the haze, he knew how much he hated the man. He desperately wished that he had enough control and energy to even bare his teeth at him.

“With all due respect,” the second voice spoke with caution, “what brings you here? Hasn’t this been downgraded to a Class-C project? Shouldn’t you working on more important things?”

Palmer gave a soft, mirthful laugh. “Ah, I suppose you’re right. Seems I’ve grown attached to our dear subject. Figured I would be best suited to make the call.”

Even through the heavy, sluggish darkness, he could feel a bit of panic rising. Palmer’s presence had never brought him anything good. What exactly was going to happen to him? Was it time for him to be ‘shelved?’

A shadow fell over him. He could make out a faint part of dark blurs as they seemed to be focused on him. Something brushed against his cheek, and the once-silent grate of skin-on-skin echoed in his ears.

“So you’ve decided, sir?”

“It seems so. Matthews should be arriving any minute with something that should aid in the process.”

It was the longest minute that he had ever lived through. It didn’t really help that the pain and overstimulation was making everything feel like it was running twice and half as fast at the same time. When a fourth voice trailed over the railing of his bed, he immediately wished that it had been longer.

“Ah! There you are. The boys in the lab finish up their little tech project?”

“Yes, sir.” Matthews’ voice was tired and breathy. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a little magenta smear being passed off to Palmer. 

“Oh? Interesting. Care to explain what you intend to do with this?” Palmer asked. “Any reason it’s shaped like an arrow?”

“It’s...alright, I don’t actually know, I didn’t ask. I guess it’s just the smallest they could make it. Anyway, I know one of the bigger concerns was that you were worried about the sheer capacity of sedatives it would require to keep it in a stable state, so this should serve as a workaround.”

“Do tell, we’re all dying to know.”

“Ah, right, my bad.” He paused to clear his throat. “They took the magic study that we’ve amassed on the Outrage’s capacity to stop time. Considering they’ve already made somewhat similar replicas of the Thunderseal for the RK-line, seems like it was a simple matter of modification until they could create something more accurate and then put it on a loop.”

“A loop?” It wasn’t Palmer’s voice. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Valid question. I don’t know all the details, but apparently, when activated, it works in a stable time loop. Instead of having to constantly pump in drugs to keep it comatose, we just use one heavy dose, get the drive working, and it’ll just keep re-metabolizing over and over again. Then it’s just a matter of whether or not we turn it off. What do you think?”

A slow, one-man clap was like thunder in his ears. “Very impressive. I think this might be the best option we’ve gotten so far.”

“Ah, you think so?”

“Yes. I think this will be just what we need.”

“So glad to hear, sir!” The man’s blurry form shuffled eagerly. “I can have the boys piece together some sort of harness to keep it in place-”

“Oh, no need.” Palmer waved him down. A metallic screech sounded, the sound of tools being sifted through. 

“Erm, sir? Then how do you expect it to stay attached?”

“Easy. We can just bolt the Drive to its skull. Less trouble, and it won’t fall off.”

Horror and panic was flooding his body. That was what they intended to do to him? Jam him full of drugs, drill something into his head, and leave him in a corner to rot? The thought made his stomach turn. 

He could feel panicked tears running down his face even before he attempted to move. He’d been helpless before, but now he was nothing more than a limp, atrophied body looking out at the world, frozen in place, but able to feel everything far too well.

“Hold it still for me, would you?” Shadows fell back over his motionless body. “I want to make sure I do this right the first time.”

The dark ocean lit up with light and noise. For a brief moment, it was like an earthquake struck, mirrored by the sensation of pain exploding in his head. The world vanished, only to all come crashing back, trembling in the aftershocks that pulsed and thrummed as his heart beat.

A second followed, then another. He worried for a half-second if the world was going to crack in half, and that he would tumble down into something infinite and cold below- though the pain itself felt quite hot, blazing like the surface of the sun.

As the world returned to its usual cool blackness, he curled in on himself, tears flowing freely. He knew that he looked no different in the outside world, aside from perhaps some blown pupils in response to the pain. In the ocean, his sobs carried and echoed softly, briefly intensifying as he risked touching his painfully throbbing head, which only made the pain sharpen in response.

“Seems secure.” Palmer’s voice was distant, yet he still screamed as the device that was now bolted to him was lightly tugged on by foreign hands. “This should do just fine. Matthews, do you know the activation spell?”

“Of course. Just let me know when you’d like me to use it.”

“Wonderful. Just let it take one last look into the world. It won’t be waking up for quite a while.”

“It’s still awake, sir?”

“Do you see its eyes? For whatever that means, it’s still awake. It’s advanced too far by this point, working on some scale that we can’t hope to comprehend yet. It’s probably too busy trying to count all the specs of dust in the room and deconstruct the concept of physics, rather than focusing enough on what we’re saying. I just thought it would be polite.”

He felt long fingers tangling themselves in his hair, an achingly unpleasant familiarity. He knew he wouldn’t miss it, but the thought of never being able to feel again gave him an odd sort of need for it. His heart was pounding fiercely, but no matter how much he willed it, he couldn’t even twitch.

“Sir?” The second man spoke up. “Is it about time to put Bedman to sleep now?”

The room was quiet for a moment. The fingers removed themselves from him. “Bedman?” Another soft laugh escaped Palmer’s mouth. “How fitting. Yes, I think now’s a good time. Can one of you grab a syringe?”

“No!” He found himself crying, screaming into the darkness. What was going to happen to him if this worked? Would he be stuck in the dark ocean forever, floating aimlessly in the hopes that someday, they’d wake him up?

“Should this be enough, sir?”

“Oh, plenty.”

“No! No no no! You can’t do this!”

“Matthews, start charging up that spell.”

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” He screamed so loud his throat ached, but all it did was make it echo more in the void. “DON’T DO THIS!”

A stripe of immaculate white crossed his blurry field of vision. Palmer was smiling at him, kindly and sweetly, like a father coaxing his child to sleep.

“Goodnight, Bedman.”

_“NO!”_

The prick of a needle bloomed against his throat, making him cough and gasp. The lukewarm chemical slipped inside quickly, moving at a pace that he could feel, but not stop. One of the men was moving strangely in the corner, and he realized what was happening as an odd warmth curled around him. In another instance, it might have felt soothing and inviting, but here, it only felt like it was trying to push him down.

“The device is activated. As soon as the sedative kicks in, that should be it.”

The voices were growing distant. With a swiftly-growing horror, he realized that the colors were fading as well, slowly muting into a pure black. As they did, he could feel himself being forced back, away from the surface. No matter how hard he tried to swim against it, it felt like a wall was being erected, fencing him off from the only exit he had.

“No, no, no no no…”

In a panic, he threw his hands up, slamming his fists against what felt like an impenetrable wall, trying desperately to get to the other side.

“LET ME OUT!” He screamed, voice hoarse. “LET ME WAKE UP! SOMEONE LET ME OUT!”

Just as it had for what felt like an eternity, there was no response to greet him. It was only him, alone, floating in the dark.

Alone.

Alone.

 _Alone._ The word stung. It felt like...what did it even feel like? What did anything feel like? What was there in the darkness, aside from him? What was there to feel?

He thought he was crying again, but he realized that it was impossible. No tears rolled down his cheeks. No sobs escaped his throat. There was only numbness. No true sensation that he could put a name to, only half-remembered thoughts, unprovable and intangible as he floated in a dark, empty world.

It felt like nothing. 

He felt like nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied a little, this was going to be the halfway for chapter five, but I decided that I liked ending it where it was and opted to make it 7 chapter instead of 6. I hope to have this done very soon!


	6. The Upside-Down Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is so much bigger than you think it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry this took so long...

_3.1415926535..._

_3.1415926535..._

_3.1415926535…_

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if any of the numbers were correct. With nothing to verify, he very well could have been reciting gibberish. It was all he could think to do.

He would close his eyes, only to find everything in the exact same shade either way. He would reach his arms out to swim, but no matter how hard he tried, there was only more thick darkness beyond it. Sleeping was unnecessary- if what he thought was true, he already was asleep, and this endless world was his dream.

There was nothing to confirm or deny his thoughts. So he decided it was true.

For as little as there was in his world, he realized that it was his alone. It was easy to determine what was and what wasn’t. Nothing and nobody to disprove. He could claim that the sky was made of ice cream and that puppies rained from the clouds, if he knew what the sky, rain, ice cream, clouds, or puppies were anymore. 

He had been overwhelmed by fear before, but that had become difficult. There seemed like nothing to fear, so he decided that he wasn’t afraid. In a way, it felt somewhat silly. He’d deemed the world was too illogical for him, but there was more logic here than anywhere he had been before. He did not want to be afraid, so he decided that he was not afraid. He decided that the darkness was a comfort, and so it was. He decided, and it was. Everything was all the more calming when there were absolutes. No grayness, no ‘almost.’ Only ‘is’ and ‘is not.’

Time was a void, unmeasurable and imprecise. With where he was, he had no idea how long he had been confined to the ocean. ‘Day’ and ‘night’ were meaningless. If this were his dream, if he were truly dreaming, then he decided that such concepts were unnecessary. Nonetheless, if he were the only one there, then in a metaphysical sense, he _was_ the world, and the world was him.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flickered. He would admit, even in this perfectly logical world, sometimes things could just _happen_ , perhaps because in some deeply-entrenched part of his mind, he wanted it to happen. He’d yet to dissect his own mind fully, so some aspects of him had yet to be understood. Still, he willed the flickering thing away. Conscious willing always did away with the pesky little irregularities.

It did not waver. It merely continued to twinkle.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a little spark of anger from inside of him. The wonder of the sensation almost distracted him from what he was truly irate with. This world was supposed to follow his will, and behave as he told it to. 

Despite that, an innate curiosity swiftly overtook it. Did something else exist with him? Was he not truly alone? As soon as the thought occurred, a new sensation unfurled within him, something that he thought had forgotten- cold, aching loneliness.

Something about that little abnormality seemed to be reopening places that he thought he had closed off. The loneliness was eating him, he felt utterly starved- food, a concept he remembered again- and the maw it created was aching to be filled.

Raising his arms, he began swimming in a direction that he decided was downwards. The dim glimmer was a beacon in the darkness, and he felt a flutter of what he called hope.

++++++

He did not breach the water’s surface, like he had with the outside. The further he swam, the more solid the world became around him. Colors and textures and sensations unfolded around him in little blossoms, eventually fusing and merging into one reality around him. Yet despite the odd entrance, he couldn’t deny that the place had a modicum of familiarity.

The walls were white. In fact, most of it was. It was such a jarring thing to see after the endless darkness. It almost stung his eyes as he looked at it.

Everything else just seemed like a jumble of features. A door ajar, leading to some room. A swinging door at the end of the hallway. In the corner of his eye, a flight of stairs that lead to someplace he couldn’t see. It seemed almost random, but he couldn’t deny the twist of unease as he looked around.

Upon second look, he realized that the hallway had several trays of sharp metal tools lying around, as well as an abandoned IV rig. He eyed them all with discomfort, feeling memories that threatened to pull themselves free from the pleasant darkness that helped him keep his thoughts in check.

He remembered this hallway, both in his dreams and the building itself. Terror flooded him, but a great deal of anger came with it. The emptiness was far more preferable to this. Even now, was he being subjected to this nightmare again. Even in a coma- yes, he remembered the faux-soothing voices and the rush of chemicals all too well- he couldn’t be rid of those memories.

The appearance of that twisted, doglike creature was something he anticipated. As he watched it lumber towards him, blood filling the hall and long claws scraping against the plaster, the anger only grew. It would have been funny, if he wasn’t so furious. How could he honestly expect to find this terrifying? Reality was far worse.

The creature continued to drag itself towards him, letting out a gurgling roar. With the anger reaching its peak, he drew his arm back, and punched as hard as he could.

The monster shattered like glass as he struck it, shards floating for a brief moment before fading away.

He looked down at his hand, feeling a triumphant smile split his face. All along, it had been nothing to be afraid of. Nothing holding him back but his own fear.

As he lifted his vision back up, he realized that the hallway around him was wavering. He looked to the door at the end of the hallway, and began to walk. For the first time, after having the dream repeat over and over again, he felt himself moving. The door grew closer, and he reached out.

On the other side, things seemed considerably darker. A few beams of light shone overhead, drawing his attention. Though it was hard to see with how bright they were, it reminded him somewhat of the school auditorium. They used to have a play every year, up on a stage with large lights that looked something like that.

He continued to explore the outside space. The more he did, the more accurate his first impression felt. The floor below him was flat wood that creaked under bare feet. All of the hallway’s walls were little more than flat panels, supported by more bits of wood. From a new perspective, what had once been a terrifying dream was nothing more than a cheap, school-class setpiece made out of plaster and plywood.

Along with that, he realized, he was all alone now. The wooden stage lead him to a small set of stairs. With how silent it was, every bare footstep managed to echo. Beyond the harsh glare of the stage lights, he found himself looking into an empty auditorium, with nary a speck of dust ruining the appearance of the perfectly-lined seats that stretched out as far back as he could see.

That only managed to hold his attention for a moment longer, as he caught sight of a door by the wall. A large red ‘EXIT’ sign hung over it. Without a second thought, he pushed through it.

If the stage lights were bright, than this was something else entirely. Something about it told him that it couldn’t truly be the sun, but it certainly was bright. It was more light than he though he could handle, more than he could remember ever seeing before. Perhaps he could stay inside for a bit longer.

When he turned back around, the building was gone. There wasn’t a sign of its foundation or any sign that it had been there. Instead, there was only a brick path, extending through a flat plane of grass. It was unnerving...but he decided that there was no point on dwelling on it. He couldn’t make it come back. He turned back around, and began to walk.

No matter how long he walked, the light never seemed to grow less harsh. It wasn’t painful, though. The heat didn’t scald his back with time. His senses weren’t dull, but it didn’t overwhelm him. For once, everything was within a happy medium. There was a light breeze that cooled his skin and ruffled his clothing, but not too much. Some kind of soft, humming music reached his ears, something that was lulling and calm instead of shrill and metallic, but kept the world from sounding too silent.

He found himself continuing to wander. Part of it was that there wasn’t much else to guide him aside from the odd path, but the further he went, the clearer the humming seemed to get. It was curious, music. He hadn’t head music in such a long time.

The grass eventually gave way to well-tended beds of brightly-colored flowers. He sighed at the sight, with the picturesque scene soothing his frayed thoughts somewhat. He couldn’t remember seeing anything so colorful before. 

A massive white flower bobbed in the gentle breeze. Upon second glance, he realized that it was not a flower, but a woman. She was perched by the flowerbed, humming the music that he had been hearing before, admiring the garden in front of her.

“H...hello?”

It felt odd trying to talk to another person. He wasn’t truly sure if she even was a real person. Was this some sort of distorted dream-world, and she was nothing more than a figment of his thoughts? He’d never seen someone like her before.

The woman seemed shocked by his voice. Her head snapped towards the sound with such abruptness that he flinched and took a step back. In spite of that, he found himself drawn back by the way that she moved. There was just something so fluid and elegant about the way that she moved as she stood. On second thought, in part it was just due to the fact that he’d seen someone relatively nonthreatening for the first time far too long.

She seemed remarkably tall as she stood over him. A decent portion of it came from her massive hat, containing the majority of her long blonde hair, with the rest spilling out and down like pale waterfalls. He couldn’t put a word to it, but something about her seemed so...otherworldly. 

Was it the red eyes? She couldn’t be a Gear, could she? She would be attacking him if she was, right? 

Instead, the strange woman offered a serene smile. “Hello, little one. I was wondering when I’d finally get to see you.”

He immediately felt his heart thrum in panic. He most assuredly did not know this woman, and she should not have known who he was. Glancing around, he found nothing but flat expanses of grass and flowers, and considered making a break for it until he heard a soft, tinkling laugh.

“It’s alright. I know you’re afraid, but rest assured. I am a friend, and I wish to help you.”

“H-how can I trust you?” It was so strange to hear his own voice. In the void, he could never tell if he was really speaking or just thinking. The two were interchangeable there. Now, he could hear himself, feel things moving as he spoke. It would have been calming, if he wasn’t afraid of this new unknown.

She shook her head just a little, sighing. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I don’t seem to have a very good record with this sort of thing. That’s exactly what the other one said…”

“Other one?” He was at attention immediately, leaning forwards without thinking. “Who?”

“There was another person here before you. A girl.” She explained. “You look a bit like her, do you two know each other?”

He thought he was going to faint right then and there. “Yes! That’s my sister, Delilah! I’ve been so desperate to find her, do you know where she is?!”

“Please, relax.” The woman raised a hand, brow furrowing. “It seems your timing is rather poor. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Just as quickly, he felt his heart drop. “What?”

“She was here for a time, but went off on her own in search of something. Said it was important, and that she needed to get going as soon as she could.”

Something important...was it him? Was she looking for him? Or a way to escape from this place?

“W-wait,” he stammered, trying to keep his thoughts together. “Isn’t this...my dream? Delilah couldn’t be here. Am I...am I losing my mind from being trapped in here?”

A hand rested itself on his shoulder. When he glanced up, he saw the woman looking at him with sympathy.

“My child, please don’t be so afraid. Yes, you are asleep, but this isn’t simply your own dream anymore.”

He tilted his head. “What? How...what does that mean? How is that possible?”

“Well, not exactly.” She turned and began walking, gesturing for him to follow. “Please, come with me. I will explain.”

Hesitantly, he found himself following her. As he walked past the flowerbed that she had been sitting at, he noticed a pair of hedge trimmers, alongside the chopped-off heads of flowers, lying scattered.

“If this isn’t my mind, then what does this place mean?” He asked, running to catch up. “Is this someone else’s? Is this yours? Are you some sort of Godly being?”

“My my, what a flatterer you are!” She turned to offer a warm smile. “And quite the talkative one, to boot!”

Talkative? He hadn’t even been thinking about it. He’d been stuck silent and voiceless for so long, it seemed that he couldn’t shut himself up. He liked being able to talk again.

Before he could ask another question, the atmosphere around them suddenly began fading. The pale sky was swallowed by inky darkness, only to ebb back a little and mix the two. He knew the sight far too well and flinched back, but the light did not come back.

“Hmm?” She stopped walking, turning back around to look at him. “Is everything alright?”

“T-th-this is-” He wrapped arms around himself, trying to avoid panicking. “I don’t want to go back to the ocean!”

“Ocean?”

With a little smile, she stepped up to face him. She tilted his head up so they locked eyes. “Relax. I know this is strange, but it’s nothing to be afraid of. Very few humans have witnessed what you are about to see.”

Her words offered little comfort. If anything, he found it a bit condescending. Maybe it wasn’t her fault, but he was so absolutely tired of being looked down on. He hated being seen as weak.

“I don’t care.” He snapped, barely thinking as he spoke. “No need for the flourish, I’m not a child in need of entertainment.”

“Oh?” She looked astonished, and pulled her hand away. Just as quickly, the serenity returned. “If you wish. Come, then. I can make this prompt.”

Standing up taller, he walked past her. “I don’t know what sort of place this is, but I question the grandiosity you’re giving it. What exactly do you…

W-what…” He took a few hesitant steps back. “What is this?”

Looking up, there was no familiar blue sky. Instead, a massive bluish-purple net webbed across overhead as far as the eye could see, nestled against a pure black backdrop. Tendrils branched out and appeared to plug themselves into the ground in several places, giving off the impression of several trees fused to one another. Despite that, though, various parts of the structure thrummed and pulsed arrythmically, moreso like an organ.

A set of perfectly-manicured nails settled on his shoulder. “This,” she said, with an almost theatrical flourish, “is the Backyard.”

The two of them stood on what appeared to be a large floating landmass. Though it seemed perfectly stable, the ground immediately dropped off a few hundred yards away. When he approached the edge out of curiosity, he realized that the organ-like web continued to spread all around the pitch-black void, stabbing right through the various landmasses and anchoring them in place. It became difficult to determine which was was up anymore. There was no horizon line, no consistent ground- only the fleshy mass.

At what he assumed to be the center, there was a pale, cube-like shape floating motionlessly. It was marked with rings and glyphs, but even as he leaned in, he couldn't make out what any of them said.

“Oh!” The woman grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the edge. “You look dizzy. Don’t want to fall off!”

“What is that?” He pointed to the nearest tendril. “Is it alive?”

“Well, yes and no. I suppose it depends on what you consider alive.” She shrugged, as though genuinely unsure herself. “The Backyard is not an isolated place. This net provides the only entrance...and thus, the only exit. At least, it applies to most of the things that live here, you included.”

“But what exactly is it?”

“That, my dear, is the collective unconsciousness of humankind.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “What? How-”

“The Backyard is a place where almost anything can happen. It functions similarly to a dream, if you will. All can exist, but little is tangible. When humans sleep, they come here.”

“Ohhh. Is...that why I’m here?”

“For the most part, yes.” She nodded in approval. “You’ve been put into a coma, and thus are tethered to the Backyard for now. Although, usually, humans remain formless, wandering aimlessly within the web. The human body itself is incapable of entering the Backyard without serious precaution, yet the consciousness can be ‘projected,’ for lack of a better term. I’m not sure why you are capable of surviving in here like you are.”

“If the web is the human consciousness...then what is the rest of this?”

She chuckled softly. “My, you’re a curious one, aren’t you?” The hand on his shoulder moved up to ruffle his hair, a gesture that was remarkably, and unexpectedly, calming. “Alright, I’ll indulge.

The Backyard is a massive and extensive realm, and even I don’t know each and every one of its layers in full, exact detail. But this is the innermost section of it to my knowledge. It could be considered this dimension’s ‘core’ or its ‘central unit’ of a sort. It’s the mind of the machine.”

He was going to ask more questions, but a horrified thought entered his mind. “T-this ‘Backyard’ seems to be its own separate existence...but it can interact with our world? What happens if-”

“It seems you misunderstand. This _is_ my world. But to answer your question, the Backyard and your world are not meant to interact in such a direct manner. The Backyard itself exerts a great amount of influence over your world, but the two cannot directly coexist in the same space. The compression of information would be too great for it to be stable. That is the same reason why a human cannot exist here.”

“The Backyard...that’s why all this happened to me? They said that the Backyard did something to our- to my world before. Is that true?”

“Ah…” She donned a pensive look. “What did they call it in Illyria…‘Baptisma 13?’ Valentine caused a bit of a fuss then. Quite a shame. I had some hope for her.”

“A shame? Did-did _you_ do this?!” He felt his hands tightening into fists. “ _You’re_ the reason Delilah and I got sick?! _You’re_ the reason that they tortured me?!”

Her eyes went wide. “Torture?”

“Th-they said that they were going to cure us! That the tests were going to make the fevers go away! I-I-”

“Little boy, please listen to me.”

He struggled to silence himself, but obliged. The woman wore an unreadable expression, which only made him nervous.

“I don’t know what or why such things happen to you, but please know that none of it was my intention. Now please, this is important, so I’m going to need for you to calm down.”

‘Calm’ was the last thing he wanted to be at that moment. Despite himself, he complied, keeping a hard glare but remaining silent.

“I can help you.”

“You can?” He couldn’t hide his shock. “How can you fix me after all of this?”

“Ah, well…”

“You _can_ do that, can’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” She wore a sad smile. “I can’t fix you. But if you wish, I can offer you something better.”

An odd emotion became mixed with her smile, one that he couldn’t name. He felt a bit hesitant to reply, but was too curious. “What is it?”

“I can help you get revenge on every one of those men who hurt you.”

“Revenge?”

“I can understand if you’re opposed to the idea…”

“No. No, I’m not opposed.” He scowled. “I know revenge is supposed to be bad, but those men are evil! They took Delilah away! They deserve to be hurt!”

She seemed pleased by his response. “I understand completely. Don’t worry. I can give you everything you need to punish them. They won’t be able to hurt you, or anyone else ever again.”

“I’m very thankful. I thought that I’d never be able to escape. Maybe I can find my sister now-!”

“Rest assured. I’d be more than happy to help you with that, too. If you help me, I’d be more than happy to help you.” She paused. “What is your name?”

“My name?” He dug through his thoughts. “I...I don’t remember. I think they called me ‘Bedman’ right before everything went dark. I don’t think it’s my actual name, but…”

“Bedman it is, then.”

“If you insist.” He tried to remain aloof. “I suppose my name doesn’t matter much, either way. Call me whatever you wish.

The woman chuckled in amusement.“I’m looking forward to working with you, Bedman.” She offered a hand to shake. “I am the Universal Will. But you may call me Ariels. Now...let’s get down to business, shall we? We have so much to discuss...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, we really don't know what the backyard looks like. Even if we do, I presume that since it's sorts like a computer that there are so many layers and sections that it probably looks different all over. I dunno, I'm a disaster.


	7. Does the Sheep Count the Sheep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, Bedman

How had the world ever felt so small?

The Backyard felt so vast, so infinite. It was something far beyond the simplicity of the world that he had once lived in. So many things to discover and know.

Somehow, it felt like he belonged there. The way his mind had flourished, it felt like it was too large for not only his own body, but for the world. In this new form, it seemed like a perfect fit.

Ariels had been right. The Backyard was incredibly massive, far too big to understand fully. But at least in the central areas, he had begun to understand. How the sky turned from black to red, the closer he hovered towards that odd floating cube. Apparently that thing had once allowed for some form of control over the outside world, but it had been destroyed. A bit of a disappointment, but he supposed there was no point in getting worked up over it. That would be illogical, when there were other options available.

It was far easier in the Backyard. He liked being ‘Bedman.’ He didn’t have to be afraid if he didn’t want to. Emotions could be easily compartmentalized. Nightmares were boxed up and shut away. Why didn’t more people live like this? It was a far easier and far better way. 

He felt very fortunate to have met Ariels. She was wise. She wasn’t as narrow-minded as those awful ‘scientists.’ She told him everything he needed. She didn’t lie or deceive him.

Mostly, though, she taught him things. How the Backyard worked. How to move about it without getting lost. Of course he had figured out much of it on his own, but the assistance was helpful. With enough study and practice, he’d been able to carve out his own little place in the strange world, the theater that he’d first come in through. A massive vaulted dome soon surrounded it, filled with equally-massive screens, chains, and a lake of blood. It was home now, and nobody was going to cross him again.

That wasn’t the end of his story, of course. No, no, not even near. He still had quite a bit to do.

“I have a fair bit of influence in your world.” Ariels said to him. “Your capabilities are limited in your current state, even with your abilities here. But rest assured, you can leave that concern to me. It will take me a bit of time, but I’m going to find where your body is.”

They didn’t talk as much now, what with all the work they’d both been doing. The woman had left him a special memento, though- an ornate, floating mirror that they could send messages with. He wanted to say that it was something like communicator magic, but with all of the new experiences of the Backyard, it was difficult to compare these strange and wonderful things to any of the mundane simplicity that he could recall.

When the mirror was inactive, the surface shone passively, reflecting the new landscape that he called home. During a moment of curiosity, he found himself looking into it.

“Is this...me?”

His own face seemed scarcely familiar. He reached up to brush against the sweeping tips of his messy hair, eyes taking note of the magenta arrow that was fixed right in the center.

“Has my hair always been this color?”

Something about it seemed wrong, but he couldn’t pin it down. Those memories were too foggy, even with the capabilities he had. He just couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way. He could have sworn that his clothes had been simple and plain, but the dreamcatcher design had to have come from somewhere. The crisscrossed black markings that ran across his body felt new, but there was no sign or evidence that anything had ever put them there. No red marks or scarring. 

The lack of answers only lead to uncertainty. He didn’t like that. It was one of the few times when his carefully-organized and restrained mind began to undo itself. Anxieties lead to nothing but disarray.

No. He wasn’t going to let it upset him. That would be illogical. The problem could be solved without that kind of emotional outburst. Yes. That was the best option, the most sensible one.

The screens that surrounded him began to flicker, each and every one showing an array of different images as it shuffled through his memories. They were sparse, fleeting and blurry. Warm, happy memories were few and far-between, hidden under the sensations of pain and the sight of masked men looming over him.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be right. 

Where was he? Where was Delilah? There had to be something more!

His own methods were failing him. His chest felt tight. There wasn’t enough air in the room. She had to be real, didn’t she? They- they had a nice little house in the woods- _lake? Was it a lake?-_ They had to have parents, did they? A loving mom and dad...why couldn’t he find their faces? What did they look like? What did Delilah look like? Almost all of what he knew was the cold, sterile confines of a white room, tied to a bed. That couldn’t be him. That couldn’t be all there was-

The screens blinked and flashed, image growing less and less coherent. Furiously trembling eyes jumped across them, all staring down at him as he tried to keep some semblance of coherency in his thoughts. 

Who was he? Who was ‘Bedman?’

Stretching across the massive theatre-screen, a clear memory pulled itself from the chaos. He looked up at it, not daring glance away for even a moment, for fear of it vanishing back into the recesses of his disarrayed mind.

Delilah...just the sight of her soothed his anxious heart. Yes. There she was. Happy and smiling, cuddling the dog plushie she’d been given as a birthday present. She…

No. Oh God, no. He could feel the cold terror threatening to overtake him. This wasn’t a memory. He knew that blood-stained monster too well, knew the bloodied halls and boarded-up room. The hospital hallway, the surgical tools, the sheer amount of blood, the shard of glass, the fire blazing, burning him alive-

He’d conquered that fear! Why was it still in his mind? He wasn’t supposed to be afraid of them anymore! Why was this all he could remember? Why did his face feel warm? Why was he crying? Why why why _why why why-_

“Bedman?”

A placid voice drew him from his panic. When he turned, Ariels’ face was displayed on the floating mirror, as calm as it always was.

She tilted her head slightly. “Am I interrupting something? Are you quite alright?”

“Absolutely fine.” He scrubbed the tears away, somehow managing to stand stoic. “Is there something that you require of me?”

“In a sense. I’ve finally managed to discover where your body is located.”

That immediately had his full attention. “You have?”

She nodded, a little smile on her face. “I’ve sent out a little present for you. I originally thought just to have you sent somewhere else, but a new idea came to mind. I did promise you revenge, after all.”

“Care to clarify?”

“Not just yet. I’d very much like it to be a surprise. You’ve figured out how to return to your physical form, haven’t you? Just be a good little boy and wait for it to arrive.”

The image on the surface vanished before he had time to say anything. A little twitch of irritation stirred inside of him, but intrigue and curiosity swallowed it up. Just what exactly was she planning? Did she have a way of finally letting him escape?

Teleporting was a simple matter, only a short amount of time before he could master it. The windup for long distance was still something that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried. An annoyance, but a necessary one. It wouldn’t take long to where he was going, anyway.

++++++

Strange as it seemed, the Backyard felt more like real life than the ‘real world’ did. When he slipped back into his own body, there was always an odd sense of numbness. Like it wasn’t even his own. He felt detached in the strange, dreamlike reality that he only rarely drifted back to. He knew he wasn’t truly ‘awake.’ His eyes never opened. The details of it eluded him, but something about the Backyard’s exposure could let him see without eyes. As odd as it seemed, he didn’t need to be ‘awake’ to be conscious.

“Bookkeeping duty? Bo-ring. Why do they always assign us to do this crap?”

The room was familiar enough. White walls, white floor, surrounded on all sides by machinery. He spotted a pair of white-coated men standing a short distance from where he was. The voice was unfamiliar, and from his vantage point, his face was, as well.

“It’s easier, though.” The other’s voice was equally unrecognizable. “Isn’t it?”

The first scoffed. He turned, approaching the bed. “I mean, yeah. Just check on some comatose kid and make sure he’s still out. Doesn’t make it any less dull as fuck.”

The second skittered up behind, wearing an uncomfortable expression. “Aren’t we supposed to refer to it as an ‘it?’”

“He’s in a fucking coma, you idiot. Who gives a shit?”

The man’s arrogant, flippant tone made him snicker internally, if only for a moment. He was more concerned about whatever Ariels was planning. He’d rather not have to listen to these two babble until then, but if he had to wait, then so be it.

“Um, I suppose you’re right…” The more nervous one seemed insistent on not meeting the other’s eyes. “So...what do you call it, then?”

The senior leaned against the bedframe, eyeing his prone figure with little interest. “I dunno. If anybody knows its name, they don’t care. Everyone just calls it ‘the bedman’ and leaves it at that. It doesn’t need a name.”

“H-how long have you been studying it?”

Ohhh, now this was intriguing. What exactly had they been up to while he’d been busy?

“Again, I dunno. Months? Longer? It’s been a while. Fascinating stuff, though. We’ve learned so much about how the human brain works because of it.”

“I can definitely believe that! Can’t believe its parents signed off on it, though. How heartless do you gotta be to do that to your own kid?”

“Nah, they don’t know about this. We told ‘em months ago that they both dropped dead. Sent a box of fireplace ashes to bury, they couldn’t tell the difference.”

A flare of anger burned through his thoughts. That was why no one had come for them? Why nobody had even seemed to realize that they’d been missing?! All this time, and nobody had a clue that they were still alive?!

The sound of a swinging door distracted him from any plan-making. He couldn’t see the intruder at first, but he recognized them as soon as they came close enough. Liebling. The man who had taken screws and drilled them right into his body.

The anger spiked into a fever pitch. As much as he hated getting over-emotional, it felt _good_ being angry. It was tangible, something solid in the sea of blurry memories. 

“Huh? Sir?” One of the younger men spoke up. “What are you doing here?”

“Good. You’re still here.” The man’s voice was slightly breathy, like he’d been coming there in a hurry. “I need you to help me move it to another room.”

“Another room?” The timid one asked. “Why? I-if I may ask.”

Liebling shook his head. “Not a clue. Some higher-up showed up and ordered it. And frankly, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna strangle me to death with my own tie unless we do this right now.”

Without another word, the two younger men went to either side of his bed and knelt down. He wished he could see what they were doing, but it immediately became apparent. With a hard click, the mattress jostled, and he could feel wheels turning slightly underneath him.

Interesting. All this time, there had been wheels? Wouldn’t have done him much good before, but it was still odd that he was only learning that now. Maybe if he had known, he could have use it to his advantage somehow.

There was something about being moved that felt so remarkably...tranquil. It was almost like the ocean. It felt like floating.

“Where to, sir?”

“5H, two floors down. There’s an elevator right down the way, I’ll point it out.”

“Wh- what about me, sir?” The softer one asked.

“You stay. If anyone comes in and asks, tell them we did what we were told. I’m not getting canned over something like this.” 

Being completely motionless, he tried to take in as much new stimuli as possible. It was strange. Aside from the sounds of distant footsteps, there wasn’t much to be seen. The same lights washed over him over and over again as he passed, the worn-down wheels of the bed squeaking across the tile floor. Was it tile? He remembered it being that way, but who knew how long ago that had been?

He tried to make out anything to identify the place. Despite having spent so long in the facility, he still had little idea of what it was for, aside from it being Black-Tech, if he remembered right. What sort of goal had they been trying to reach with their testing? And what other sorts of goings-on happened behind the other doors?

The soft ‘ping’ of the elevator held his attention for a mere second. The action of moving downwards while being forced to stare at the ceiling was a bizarre sensation. Dizzying. As illogical as it was, he was half-expecting the ceiling to fall away into the abyss above.

“Alright, keep going. Just a couple more hallways.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when they arrived. The room had its own door with a knob instead of a swinging one, but it was otherwise equally sized and equally white. The only thing of note was an odd sort of metal contraption vaguely resembling another bed, though far more spindly and inexplicably unnerving.

“The hell…?” The man’s voice matched how own confusion. For a moment, he felt his heart skip in unexpected panic as the rolling bed was nudged towards the odd metal thing. “What even is that?”

On his other side, Liebling was already preoccupied. “Like I said, I dunno. Apparently it’s some high-tech thing so we don’t have to keep replacing the IV.”

“Well, I guess that’s good.” The other’s face twisted in disgust as the current needle was removed. “Surprised his veins haven’t collapsed yet after so long.”

“We have been worried about that. Personally, I’m glad we won’t have to deal with it. It’s a distraction, anyway. We need to be focusing on other projects.”

The bindings were removed from his arms and legs. He wondered what purpose they still served, what with him being physically catatonic. Maybe it had just been easier to leave them.

“Yikes, those are gonna be some ugly scars.”

“We probably should have changed them at some point. They got pretty worn down.” Liebling replied. 

Once the IV was gone and the restraints were pulled away, both men tried to sit up the slack, motionless body. The backs of the long screws that still jutted out through his back snagged a little on the mattress, making the fabric rip.

Without any breaks in pace, Liebling scooped him right up off of the bed, carefully poised not to jab himself on the screws. As soon as he did, though, he paused. “Heh.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing...kinda feels like when I used to carry my kid around.”

“You’ve got kids?”

“I like to keep my work and home life separate.” The doctor continued to talk as he moved. “But yeah. A daughter.”

As soon as he put the boy down, the metal contraption issued a few sharp clicks. Just as quickly, the thick leather straps suddenly rose up like twin snakes, looping themselves a pair of thin wrists.

“Huh?” The younger man tilted his head. “That doesn’t seem like Black-Tech...pretty weird for a magic spell-”

After that, Bedman could hardly pay attention to what was being said. He couldn’t describe it, but everything just...clicked into place. It was like being in the Backyard again, but still in the exact same spot. He was somehow in both at the exact same time. The machine could somehow fit his mind like a glove. He could feel every piece and component of it, while remaining perfectly still.

With a mere thought, the metal let out a sharp screech, and reared up on two legs.

It should have hurt. There was nothing supporting him but the arm cuffs. He should have slid down and slumped off while dangling like a doll. Instead, he stood in place. Was it his own doing? How could he stand like this, especially while asleep?

He didn’t think about it for very long. He had bigger things to worry about. Like the two men that he now towered over, casting a jagged shadow.

“W-what the fuck is that?!” The nameless one shouted.

Liebling seemed at a loss for words. “T-this isn’t…”

He’d hardly been on the machine for a minute, yet he knew its workings as though it had always been a part of him. Metal cables snaked out from its underside, clicking and clanking as he made them flex and extend.

Bedman wasted no time in making them lash out, grabbing both men tightly and lifting them off of the ground.

“Hello, ‘doctor.’” Talking was easy, too, but his mouth wasn’t moving. In fact, he was still asleep. But now, it hardly mattered anymore.

Liebling gasped for air, simultaneously struggling to find his words. “How- how is- what are you doing?!”

Mentally, the boy rolled his eyes. “What a curious question. Really. Considering you’ve spent the last- ah, how long was it, exactly?”

“I- I-”

“Well, I suppose the question is inconsequential.” There was something strangely thrilling about this being so easy, how simple it now was to have these people at his mercy. “Considering your various experiments on mental strain, and all the things you’ve put me through...isn’t it just a bit fitting that it would end this way?”

The doctor struggled more as the cable was very slowly tightened, the meager amount of oxygen in his lungs being squeezed out.

“A-Alpha,” he rasped, tone pleading. “You can’t...you can’t…”

Without a hint of gentleness, Liebling was yanked over closer to the bedframe, until he was being held level with closed eyes and an emotionless face.

“You don’t get to decide that anymore.” Despite being all but comatose, the boy smiled. “And it’s ‘Bedman,’ remember?”

Liebling’s fear response was in high alert. Well, that was easy enough to tell just from his terrified expression, but it was simply too easy to prune into the man’s head to not indulge himself. Behind the superficial chemicals, it was mere child’s play to start digging around in his memories. Who exactly this man was, everything about him.

Robert Liebling. A neurology prodigy, husband, and a father of one. How positively ironic. Based on the images he was seeing, the man doted on his child. It seemed that every day after staring at and studying and picking apart subjects, he went home and became a normal parent. It was infuriating.

What would he think if such awful things happened to his own child?

It had been merely hypothetical, but as soon as he thought it, he could feel the man squirming harder against his bindings.

“A-Anna?” His face pinched in confusion, trying to process the unwelcome thought. “Is this...no, it can’t be a dream, I- Sweetheart, what are you doing?”

Liebling’s expression contorted into terror and shock. “ANNA! Oh god, oh god, what’s happening?! T-this isn’t me!! Anna, I didn’t mean to- no, NO _NO!!_ ”

He became incoherent after that, screaming hysterically as he sobbed and gasped for air. The sounds of his despair filled the room, until both men were easily crushed in a metal grip and tossed to the floor.

Bedman couldn’t bring himself to look. It was undeniably cathartic to witness, but the sound still echoed in his ears. He told himself that he couldn’t stay for too long. No point in lingering.

This place had no reason to exist anymore. It served no purpose, aside from causing suffering. Maybe that’s what his dream had been telling him the entire time. It was best as if it had never been made.

Liebling just so happened to have known quite a bit about the building’s iffy wiring. Enough to know where all the important bits were. He forced a red-stained tendril into the nearest wall, tearing out a massive chunk of wood, drywall, and sparking metal. A bit of preparation and reorganization later, and a small kindling was quickly eating the hole larger and filling the air with smoke.

Two down, and so many more left.

++++++

Innumerable screams filled the night as the complex was swallowed up in an inferno. Very few cries were from the pain of the blaze. Though no survived to recount what they witnessed, each and every scientist would recall a young boy tied to a bizarre metal contraption, just briefly enough to make out the most standout details- purple hair, the odd black tattoos etched into his skin, and the magenta arrow seemingly nailed to his face- before they were inexplicably forced to witness the darkest and most terrifying images their minds could conjure up.

Come dawn, there was no wreckage to inspect. The ground appeared only barely charred, with no signs of the building that had once towered over everything. It was almost as though it had never existed at all.

++++++

“I’m very impressed with your work. My machine was only a base model, I never imagined you’d be capable of so much.”

Ariels’ words were met with a smug look. “Is that a criticism of your own capabilities, or a genuine compliment of mine?”

“Fair enough.” The mirror bobbed quietly in the air for a moment. “I think these talents could prove very useful for the both of us. Would you be willing to give me some more demonstrations?”

His expression fell. “More? What kind of people would you be talking about?”

“There’s a variety. Several people need to be dealt with.” Ruby eyes narrowed slightly. “You did promise to help me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did!” He asserted immediately. “I just wonder…”

“Their deaths will be meaningless soon enough. Entirely inconsequential.”

That got his full attention. “Meaning?”

“If everything goes as I plan it to, every life taken will be reborn, regardless of who or how. This world will be remade. Humanity will become perfect. No more suffering, no more misery.”

Bedman didn’t realize that he was holding his breath. “Remaking the world? And you can bring people back?”

_”We_ can, if you’re willing to do what I need you to.”

“Can you give me back my sister?”

Ariels seemed surprised by that. “Your sister?...I don’t see why not. If you’re assisting me, it only seems fair. I can bring her back to you, along with everyone else.”

The mirror’s silver surface rippled. From it, a hand reached out towards him. “Do we have a deal, Bedman?”

He held out his own hand. Halfway through, he faltered. “Are you sure that everyone will be brought back? Everyone that I hurt?”

She smiled and nodded gently. “Of course. Why would I lie to you?”

“Then it’s a deal.” With no hesitation, he shook her hand firmly, and it immediately disappeared back into the mirror. “So, what do I have to do?”

“I’m still setting a few final pieces on the board. I’ll call upon you when I require your abilities. Until then, do whatever you wish- as long as you stay in the Backyard and alert no suspicions.”

“Of course.” Bedman turned to the machine frame that he had brought along with him. “I was hoping to make some modifications to the bedframe you gave me. It’s suitable, but I think it could stand to be improved.”

The woman laughed. “Such a clever thing. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can make. I’m sure it’s going to be impressive.”

The mirror vanished, leaving Bedman alone in the massive theatre. He tilted his gaze up to the massive screen, watching the images flicker until it froze on the image of Delilah cuddling her toy dog.

It was one of the few things he still had of her. As long as he remembered what he was doing all of this for, he was sure he could do what needed to be done. And once they succeeded, anything they had needed to do to get there would be undone. It would be perfect, just like Ariels had said. 

“Delilah…” Despite himself, Bedman reached out towards the still screen. “I’m going to find you soon. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh darn it I am so so sorry for taking so long to come back to this. I don't know why it took so long but congratulations!!
> 
> I hope you liked my fic! It took me way too long to finish it but I hope you can get some enjoyment out of it! Even though it's kinda dark.


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